


Ocean Eyes

by indigenousghost



Series: Don't Smile at Me [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: And anxiety, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Based off ocean eyes by billie eilish, Broken Promises, But doesn't act accordingly, Divorce, Domestic Violence, Drama & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, Fluff, He's really a fluff nugget, Heavy Angst, Hints at cheating, Inspired by Music, Is it the ex's or tom's, Its a shit ahow really, Jealousy, Kindness, Love, Mental Health Issues, Not sure though yet, OFC is new to london, OFC is young and divorced, OFC suffers from depression, Possible Daddy!Tom, Post-Divorce, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Read, Romance, SO MUCH GOOOD SMUT, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, Sooooo angsty, They both have skeletons, Tom Is A Dick, Tom loves OFC, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but on accident, jealous!Tom, listen to Ocean Eyes, multi chap, pls help, possible cheating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-20 05:12:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 51,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12425715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigenousghost/pseuds/indigenousghost
Summary: Looking back, things could have been so different. They could have been happy, they could have made it. But then it all fell apart, slipped through his hands. He could have stopped her, should have stopped her. And she, fifteen thousand miles in the sky, on her flight to Seattle, wished she’d never met him at all.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to feels hell.

**I**

_(December 21 2017)_

Looking back, things could have been so different. They could have been happy, they could have made it. But then it all fell apart, slipped through his hands. He could have stopped her, should have stopped her. And she, fifteen thousand miles in the sky, on her flight to Seattle, wished she’d never met him at all.

 

She wrote him hundreds of letters in her head, words that would never actually be written. She would never speak to him again. Not if she could help it, not after everything. She knew that when she landed, she would turn on her phone, and still be waiting for a text that would never come.

 

_Dear Tom,_

_I love you_

 

She started once again _._

 

_No._

 

_Dear Tom, I hate you_

 

_Dear Tom, I wish things had ended so differently between us. You could have been it. My end game. That forever kind of thing. But you, you’re just like the rest of them._

 

_Dear Tom, I love you. With every piece of my shattered glass heart. But you didn’t even ask me to stay, not that you could have anyways. But you didn’t even try. You left me dangling by a thread hoping you’d pull some fairytale bullshit and show up disheveled at the airport, looking for me, crying, begging me to stay. You didn’t. I boarded the plane. And still you didn’t. I’m sitting here next to some overweight woman who snores and smells like vodka. You didn’t ask me to stay._

 

 _Dear Tom, I would have_.

 

She sank into her seat and sighed deeply. Trying every trick in the book to manage the anxiety coursing through her. Eventually, she caved and took the pills and fell asleep. And just like it had for the last week, her dream began with her falling off the precipice of a cliff into his ocean eyes. And she sank. And she sank. And she drowned.


	2. Lavender and Vanilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and She meet for the first time and she gets a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such a hard time with this chapter. Like I wanted them meeting to be substantial, but not cliche. And I feel like I got the substantial part down pat, but I feel like it's a bit cliche. I don't know. Thoughts? I just know that beginnings are hard for me. Endings are what I do really well. Even if it is a tad cliche, the rest of the story probably won't be, except for a healthy dose here and there.Anyways, comments and love are always super appreciated. XO Ghosty
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE: I did a little editing because someone pointed out that I made Tom's intentions and reasoning a little vague

**II**

  
_(March 6 2017)_

 

Tom had seen her around a few times before. They seemed to frequent the same bookstore and market. From what he could tell, she had an impeccable palate, but her choice in reading was questionable. Not to the extent of nine dollar romance novels, but she seemed to restrict herself to the teen section. She was gorgeous, pale skin, high slanted cheekbones, curly golden brown hair cut at a sharp downward angle toward her shoulders. His favorite feature though were her eyes. From the glimpses he’d managed to get, her eyes were green. He’d been looking for an opportunity to speak to her for the last few weeks, but he didn’t seem to be able to find an opportunity. Not like this one, anyways.

 

She had spilt her mocha down the front of her cropped buttery yellow sweater. He could almost hear her muttered curses from here. Tom stood up out of his chair, a comfortable leather recliner sat near the window, and sprinted to get some napkins. He dampened them with water and approached her.

 

“Excuse me, Miss,” he said softly, trying not to startle her.

 

Her head jerked up sharply, causing her to spill more of the mocha on herself, “Fucking fuck.” That was a little louder, drawing the attention of a few nearby strangers. Tom was more surprised at her accent. He wasn’t expecting an American. Not that he minded Americans. In fact, he quite liked how brazen they could be. Her pale cheeks turned a deep shade of red as she stammered, “S-sorry … you scared me.”

 

He chuckled to put her at ease, “No, it’s my fault. It just looked like you might have needed a little help.” He held out the damp napkins to her, “If you don’t mind, I can hold your drink so you can clean up a bit.”

 

She handed him the mug of coffee and took the napkins from him. She dabbed at the light brown spots a bit, trying to sop up as much of the offending liquid as possible. When she had deemed it as good as it would get, she tossed the napkins in the nearby garbage can. She looked Tom in the eyes as she reclaimed her drink. Their hands brushed. And he felt it. That flush of warmth in the pit of his stomach. The magnetism. He felt himself getting lost in her endless green eyes. They weren’t just regular green. They were a pale jade green iris, with flecks of amber and ringed by a darker pine green. They were sad though, immeasurably. Tom wondered what had hurt her so deeply.

 

He had been eyeing her for a good shag, or maybe a couple, but nothing serious. Tom didn't do serious anymore. The last time he had ... nevermind that. This was the moment he usually backed away. If he felt that electricity, he usually cut off all contact there. He didn’t want even the chance to develop feelings. He wasn't really sure why hadn't made his excuses and not looked back. But there was something ... something about her eyes. Suddenly she smiled at him and it set his world on fire. She had the kind of smile where you had to smile back. Her whole face lit up, a soft inviting light. More like a candle in a dark room rather than the cliché sun comparison. Somehow though, her eyes were still so fucking sad, like a happy melody being played at murder scene. 

 ˋ

“Thank you for the help,” she said brightly, but there was something strange about it. Like an off note in that happy melody.

 

“Are you new to London?” he asked, trying to stimulate the conversation and be polite more than anything at this point. He had ruled out his original intentions as a possibility. Not with that touch.

 

“Yes, I’ve only lived here about a month,” she said, in that same tone, “I love it already. It’s so busy and vibrant. Plus the layers of history are simply intoxicating. Most big cities are lively, but with London, there’s also this underlying air of elegance.”

 

He liked the way she talked, sophisticated for an American. He liked the way her eyes looked when she talked too. She was clearly passionate about the city because those sad eyes lit up briefly while talking about it. She smelled good too, a scent Tom couldn’t quite place.

 

“Oh, I agree,” Tom said without thinking, “That’s one of my favorite things about this city. That’s why I prefer it to say New York or LA.”

 

“I definitely prefer it to LA, but New York is a toss up for me,” she said, “I’m a writer. It’s pretty much a requirement to adore New York.”

 

“You’re a writer?” Tom asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He really knew he should politely back out and avoid her from now on, but he couldn’t help himself.

 

“Newly published,” she said, “I just published a poetry anthology with Andrews Mccmeel.”

 

“Wow, very impressive,” Tom said, and he meant it. He had friends who had been trying unsuccessfully to break into the writing market for ages. Even being published was a feat these days.

 

“Thank you,” she replied with a sweet smile, “If you’d like I could give you the title. Only if you’re interested though. And I don’t expect you to be.”

 

“Nono … I am,” he found himself saying against his better judgement, “What is it?”

 

“The Bitter Moon,” she said, there was so much pride in her voice that it made Tom’s heart swell.

 

_Maybe, maybe this once he could break his own rule. I mean, how hard could it be._

 

“I’ll definitely check it out,” he said, “I’m Thomas by the way, Tom.”

 

“I know,” she replied with another deep blush, “I’m Abigail.”

 

“Abigail, I know we’ve just met and all,” Tom started, “But would you like to go out with me?”

 

She almost dropped the mug of coffee. Carefully setting it on the counter, she turned to Tom and looked him in the eyes. She had a deer in headlights look. True genuine fear. It occurred to him then that it was lavender and vanilla that she smelled like. It was a delicate combination.

 

“No … I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said very quietly, “I should go. Have a nice day Tom.”

 

Before he could even get her name out, she was gone. Whoever had hurt her had done a real number on her. The distrust, the fear, the sorrow. She was deeply broken. Those were the ones Tom avoided the most, they tended to be clingy and have expectations. Plus, he had a complex about fixing broken things. But he couldn’t get that look she had on her face out of his mind. He wondered just what the hell happened, staring after her, and having the smell of her lingering behind like a sweet reminder. Her coffee sat, still steaming on the countertop of the cafe. Tom knew he should just back off. If she didn't get clingy, he would hurt her. Deep down he knew that. And he knew should just walk away and forget her, with her pretty little mouth and even prettier smile. And he knew with every fibre of his being that getting involved with her would be a bad idea. Somehow though, he just didn't like the idea of being told no by her. Plus, she had invoked his curiosity.

 

 _Curiosity killed the cat_ , Tom chided himself, yet he couldn't help finishing, _But satisfaction brought it back_.

 

The street was busy outside, and she'd already disappeared into the crowd.

 

 _Lavender and vanilla_.

 

He inhaled deeply.

 

 


	3. Tainted Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks - Abby Centric Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha ... dark past ... tragic ... not a whole lot of detail yet. Confusion and cats and lots of *flashbacks*. TBH< I wanted to do something Abby centric before I went back to Tom or both of them. SO this happened. Lots of love. Comments are ALWAYS appreciated my dears. And kudos. And bookmarks,

**III**

_(March 6 2017; later)_

 

Abigail got back to her flat more quickly than she ever had before. She was supposed to do some grocery shopping, but she figured she could survive on leftovers and junk for a day or two. She just didn’t want to run into him again. She couldn’t believe he asked her out. What was he thinking? She twisted the two rings that dangled from the necklace around her neck anxiously. She did that when she was nervous, despite the fact that she should have gotten rid of those rings ages ago. They felt cursed to her, like the One ring. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of them.

 

_Tom Hiddleston just asked me out. He did it. Just like that. Why me of all people?_

 

Of course he was attractive. More than attractive. He was a fucking god, with his lean build, sharp facial structure, and barely strawberry blond curls. Of course she knew who he was. She thought he was a phenomenal actor, who poured his heart and soul into every piece he did. Whether it was something as grand as Loki or of the ilk of Kong. It was his eyes though that made her say no. He had those ocean eyes. If there was anything she had learned from the past three years it was that boys with ocean eyes were not to be trusted.

 

She swept into the living room. Gatsby, her Russian Blue, lay stretched out on the couch. He opened one yellow green eye at her, and purred loudly. He had always purred like that, since he was a kitten. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if she’d be alive right now if it weren’t for that cat. He got up and stretched lazily, arching his back in the infamous Halloween arch. She smiled as he bounded up to her and brushed up against her legs. Leaning down, she picked him up and gently brushed her face against his. That only made him purr harder.

 

“You know, don’t you?” she asked, in that sweet voice people usually reserve for babies, “Mommy had a bad day.” He pressed himself closer to her chest as she glanced at the time, “And it’s only noon!”

 

She knew he’d been watching her for awhile, just like she had him. Stolen glances when he was absorbed in one of his educational novels or when he was in an animated conversation with a market tender. She’d even stood behind him once in line for some fresh halibut. She’d noticed him watching her. She figured it was because she was attractive, if a little odd. She wasn’t a fool, she knew she was attractive enough, she knew her power over the opposite sex. She figured Tom was just a little enamored of her figure. She thought it would be a passing fad until some skinny little blonde thing with a bigger, albeit fake, bust caught his attention. After all, that’s how all men were.

 

She scratched behind Gatsby’s ears for a few minutes, using his regular breathing and gentle purrs to tame the anxiety attack she had felt coming on when she left the bookstore. It was one of her favorite places, that bookstore. A lovely combination of modern and cozy. Their selection of books was great and they had a café in the very back that did espresso. Their armchairs were comfortable enough to spend hours in. Plus, all the employees were delightful.

 

She sighed loudly against Gatsby’s ear as she realized she’d have to avoid the place for a few days to avoid any awkward run-ins with Tom. After all, she’d not only turned him down, but then bolted, not even bothering to finish her coffee.

 

_But she just … She couldn’t …_

 

She wasn’t relationship material anymore. Hell, she was barely people material. She felt bad for Tom, but she had to focus on herself and try, try, and remember what it was like to believe in yourself and be happy. She couldn’t do a relationship.

 

_Not now and maybe … maybe not ever again._

 

 

*******

 

_(October 16 2016)_

Abigail was laying in her bed at her mother’s house. The tears still hadn’t stopped and it had been months. Months. Gatsby her new kitten, was laying curled up on her chest. His even breathing and gentle demeanor eased her pain. He licked her face a few times, trying to comfort her. She did her best not to cringe at his sandpaper tongue.

 

SATAN flashed across her phone in big bold letters. There was only one person it could be.

 

He was a whole new breed. He was the kind of boy that sucked you in with his eyes and his jokes that never failed to make you laugh, but then chewed you up and spat you out for shits and giggles. He raged against her, for days, name calling, berating, belittling, until she did something drastic. Then he got the pleasure of calling her a psychotic bitch. He built the fire and manipulated her into throwing the match, all with a sweet ‘I love you’.

 

Don’t answer, she repeated to herself, over and over. She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t talk to him. He threw her out. He told her she was worthless, a waste of space and time, she was stupid. He had tried to fix things with her. A few times in fact. Though he kept pulling the same bullshit. This last time though, blaming her for everything that had happened, she was through. She was exhausted and ruined. She gave and gave and gave until she ran out of things to give. Don’t answer, she repeated, resisting the itch to.

 

“Are you coming with me to pick up the boys from school?” her mom poked her head into the room. The boys, her younger brothers.

 

She shook her head.

 

“Abby … you can’t just stay here in this room locked up all day,” she tried to reason, “It’s not healthy.”

 

“I’m moving,” Abby blurt out suddenly, “To London. Andrews Mcmeel is supporting the move. They say it’ll give me fresh inspiration.”

 

She didn’t tell her mom that she just couldn’t live there anymore with her, with them. There were too many memories gathered there. Memories of her shitty childhood, memories of her and him. They had been high school sweethearts. She had snuck him into the very room she was sleeping in now Halloween night last year and lost her virginity to him. Then she married him. Then he didn’t want to be married to her. She couldn’t stay there anymore. Their love, his love had become tainted so quickly. Rotting from the inside out.

 

“When?” was all her mom asked.

 

“Not sure yet,” Abigail whispered, “Soon.”

 

Her mom left without a word. She was angry, or her feelings were hurt. Abigail would have to deal with that later. His contact flashed across the screen again. She pressed decline. She couldn’t do the roller coaster. Not anymore. She had to let go. He’d get the divorce he’d demanded. _She wasn’t going back. She wasn’t going back. She wasn’t going back._


	4. In The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise surprise Abby makes some choices that shock Tom, but please him. No not the smutty kind, but those will come. Just ... trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROGRESS ... sort of ... promise ... smut will come soon, but come on, we all know that the sexual tension is gonna besuper fine. I actually enjoyed this chapter. Tom's and Abby's banter is super fun. Don't you think? Anyways, comments, kudos, yada yada are always aprreiated. Just. Like. Every. One. Of. You. Yes, you. Readers. Though I liketo have a little proof you exist and like my work. haha! XO Ghosty

**IV**

  
_(March 11 2017; 10am)_

 

Tom waited for nearly a week before seeing her again. He didn’t want to say he was stalking her per se, but he was definitely scoping out the bookstore. It was a comfortable place to spend time, so he didn’t mind. They had an excellent selection of the classics and modern literature, so usually he got something recommended to him by the pretty little bookseller, purchased it, and settled in for a few hours. Sometimes he brought scripts he was considering. If Abby wasn’t there by noon, he usually left.

 

When she finally came in, she scanned the place almost like she was looking for him. He ducked his head behind a finely bound copy of Walden by Thoreau that he wasn’t sure how had ended up in his possession. He took a glance over the rim of the book. She had walked back to the café and was speaking with the waitress.

 

God, she really was gorgeous. The way she dressed didn’t exactly help him. Today, she was wearing low slung joggers and a loose fitting crop top. The crop top wasn’t sheer, but the cotton was thin … very. Her all too lacy, a little bit racy, bra was clearly visible. The black velvet pumps she had on made her long legs seem to go on for miles. She was a tall drink of water, that was for sure. Her hair was messily swept off her face and pulled into a half knot on her head. It was a little frizzy, like she hadn’t given it much thought. She also wore no make-up, which was a pleasant surprise. It meant she was gorgeous without layers of paint.

 

Tom snuck behind his book again, when he saw her turn from the café counter. He hoped she hadn’t noticed him. He was waiting for the right time to talk to her, hopefully not scare the bejeezus out of her again. Tom realized he’d have to be slow in his wooing, turtle-like, but he’d never been one to back down from a challenge. That’s what she was. A conundrum. A mystery wrapped in a secret wrapped in an enigma. Tom wanted her, he wanted her so fucking badly. He felt the connection, but that could be ignored. He didn’t want things to get messy. Last time he’d gotten emotionally involved, well, it turned him off from the whole thing for a good long while.

 

See Tom used women. He had a voracious appetite. When he was hungry, he could have the cream of the crop. He was funny, attractive, well-spoken, charming. So they said. He didn’t use them just because though, he only used them to avoid ever being used again. After, Angie, he … no … he didn’t want to go there. He also wasn’t fond of the word used. He liked to think each and every one of them knew what they were getting themselves into. He did warn them. He gave them the whole not being emotionally ready for a relationship spiel. And while to an extent, that was true, he also found himself enjoying the freedom of living life with no strings –

 

“You know … hiding behind a book or newspaper only works in the movies,” her voice jolted him out of his thoughts, causing him to drop the book in his lap. She was sitting on the edge of the little coffee table next to his chair, her small delicate hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. She had the faintest of smiles on her lips. Her eyes though, still sad, still empty.

 

“Really now?” Tom asked, too startled to come up with a witty come back. He’d been expecting having to go to her and gently cajole her into trusting him. He hadn’t been expecting this, whatever it was.

 

“While you are an actor, a good one at that, I would advise living in reality Mr. Hiddleston,” she said, her voice filled with teasing.

 

“And while you are a writer, I’d refrain from making such grand assumptions on my intentions,” he replied, keeping his tone equally light, “I could have simply been deeply engrossed in my book.”

 

“Walden? By Thoreau? I think not …” she laughed mockingly.

 

“Hey! I happen to like Walden …” he protested, making sure to sound wounded.

 

She didn’t take the bit however and rolled her eyes, “Only a madman like you would enjoy Thoreau. I stand by the statement I made in high school. Most classics are horrid, and I can’t bring myself to read them.”

 

Tom was shocked by her statement. She didn’t enjoy the classics. Oh, she was becoming more and more fun by the second. This could be an interesting debate.

 

“You are aware that my degree is in the classics, right?” he shot at her.

 

She pouted her lips at him, and said too seriously, “I can’t imagine the pain you must have endured.”

 

“Oh really. Miss Smarty Pants, why don’t you like the classics?” he asked.

 

“I find them dry. And boring,” he had expected that, or something similar, “Really though, I feel like literature, even purely fictional or even speculative fiction is supposed to be a representative or comment on society. Classics no longer do that. They’re great if you want to learn about the past or gain some insight about the past. I don’t. I want an insight to the modern era, on times as they are, I feel that that will give me a deeper insight to myself as a person.” That, he hadn’t expected. A valid, or semi valid reason to truly not enjoy the classics.

 

“What if one is trying to learn about the present based on the past?” Tom countered, “What if they also happen to find them more well written, expansive, innovative?”

 

“That may be true for the aforementioned person,” she sipped off her drink, “But it’s not for me. And, for the record, I don’t hate all the classics, just most of them.”

 

 _Who uses the word aforementioned?_ Tom thought _._

 

“Listen Tom, I’m sorry for running out on you the other day,” she said, “If I’m being honest, you scared me for reasons I can’t really go into right now. And I’m not backing out of my decision. I still can’t go out with you, but I’m sorry for the way I acted.”

 

It occurred to Tom that _can’t_ was an interesting choice of word, “Thank you for the apology, Abigail. You seem to be a lovely person.”

 

She smiled, “I’m really not. I’m a horrible trash of a person. Especially with this proposition ... We could be friends.”

 

Tom stared at her in shock. Who was this? What happened to the girl frightened as easily as a dear by him? Why had she made this decision? It was moments like this Tom wished he was a mind reader. He could see the cogs turning in her mind. And when he looked into her eyes, past the feigned brightness, he could tell she still really was terrified. She was just braver than she was terrified.

 

Tom ran through his options. He could just say no, leave her high and dry, and never look back. Keep sleeping around. No harm, no foul. Or he could be her friend, sleep with something pretty on the side until she came around, and maybe they could have a friends with benefits relationship. She didn’t seem like she was too keen on the idea of a traditional relationship, but maybe something unconventional would suit her. Especially the lack of emotional connection. That’s what she seemed to be the most afraid of, getting too attached. Tom thought maybe they were more alike than he had originally thought. Or he hoped.

 

Abby watched him carefully, searching for his answer. She had a knack for reading people. Tom though, Tom was one of those people who fluctuated wildly between being easy to read and damn near impossible. It frustrated her, but scared her more than anything else. If she didn’t know how he was going to react, she couldn’t prepare herself. He seemed to be considering it thoughtfully, his ocean blue eyes distant.

 

“Yes, I’d like to be friends with you,” he said with a genuine smile that she returned.

 

And she could feel it. Just a little. The sensation of falling. Falling into those ocean eyes. She was scared. But she was never the type to balk from her fear. She needed a friend. She needed to learn to trust again. Her biggest concern now was making sure that Tom didn’t find out about him. Nobody could know about him. She couldn’t handle the judgement at being married so young and divorced so soon. And she had the strangest feeling that if Tom found out about him, their friendship would be over in a heartbeat.

 

 _Dear Tom,_  
She thought,  
_Please, please be gentle with me._

 

“The mochas here are phenomenal!” she gushed, her tone effervescently bright just like she intended, “You should try one.”

 

Tom laughed. And she tried to focus on that other than thoughts that were beginning to crowd her head.

 

She said something. She wasn’t really sure what.

 

 _And Tom laughed_. 

 

 

 

 


	5. The Scars We Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a strange little chapterof nightmares and a fuck ton of angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here is chapter five. Self applauds. Does anyone even read the notes? I don't even know. Anyways, lots of angst in this one so prepare thyselves. I cried as I wrote it. Tom really is a fluff nug. I just ... I wanted to explore the reasons why he his intentions were not innocent more, and come to realize, well, yiu shall see. COMMENTS, kudos, BOOKMARKS, ALWAYS ALWAYS appreciated. Lots of love to you guys. XO Ghosty

**V**

 

_(March 12 2017: 3am)_

 

Tom’s home was always bright, partially because he always had the drapes pulled open and had chosen and placed lights very carefully to emulate bright sunlight. So the first thing he noticed when he walked through the front door was that all drapes were drawn shut and all the lights were off. That was odd. Maybe Angie wasn’t home yet. That would have been odd too, still a possibility though. She had friends maybe she went out. Tom wasn’t sure if his eyes glazed over the men’s shoes that weren’t his, and the tie, the belt, the pants, the shirt because he didn’t want to see them, or because he actually didn’t see them, he wasn’t sure. Her club dress was there too, a tight fitting sequined thing he felt made her more showgirl than woman. But he didn’t say anything about it, it wasn’t his body to dress. Tom walked deeper into the townhouse. Music, something sensual, played in the background. And he could see soft candle lights emanating from the crack of the barely open bedroom door. It occurred to Tom that she surprising him, and wasn’t that sweet. We proceeded towards the bedroom and opened the door. There she was naked. Breasts splayed in the open air. The man had a grip on one of them. He found it funny, but not in a funny way. He had worshipped her body, those breasts so many times. And here she was, shagging another man behind his back, in their bed. The moment felt surreal and too real all at once. You know that feeling, that lightheaded sensation of falling you get as everything starts to go black right before you passed out. That was how Tom felt. So he was relieved when he jolted awake, hairline and back drenched in sweat. God, it was just a dream. It was just a dream. Even though it was just a dream, he didn’t know why his mind had forced him to relive that. It had been happening more and more.

 

His phone lit up. Abby flashed across the screen. He blindly reached for his phone, not really trying, not really caring. When he finally got it in his hand, he swiped to answer and held the device to his sweaty ear. There was a moment of silence on the other end.

 

“Tom?” her voice, for some reason, helped ease his thudding aching heart.

 

“Abby?”

 

“I – I know it’s three in the morning, god, almost four, but I just had a very bad feeling that something was wrong with you,” she said, her tone clearly and genuinely concerned. Tom was touched, although confused about how she knew what was happening.

 

“I’m sure you’re probably weirded out by me right now,” she rambled, taking deep breath before continuing, “I just couldn’t sleep. And I don’t know how to explain it, but I felt like something was wrong with you. So I called and you probably think I’m a psycho right now. Oh god. Everything’s fine, isn’t it. Fuck. I’m an –“

 

“Abby …” Tom interrupted, a smile formed on his mouth, “You were right. I was having a nightmare. Thank you … for calling.”

 

She paused and there was a bit of rustling on the other line, “Oh. Thank god. It’s not very often I’m wrong, but when I am, it’s disastrous. And I didn’t want to be wrong. I didn’t want to be that insane chick calling you at three am for no reason.”

 

Tom didn’t know he was crying until it was too late. Normally, he’d take care of these ridiculous feelings by fucking some bird he barely knew and sending her on her way. It occurred to him though, that that, was only a temporary solution. Luke knew the habit he had taken on. Tom couldn’t say he was too fond of it, but he was fond enough of Tom not to say anything. He knew Angie had really screwed Tom over. Especially when she sued him. Tom had been nothing but good and kind to her. Luke understood his distrust of the female half of species. Maybe he could help Tom find some professional help.

 

“Tom?” Abby whispered.

 

He didn’t respond. He wondered why she couldn’t sleep. He wondered what sort of things haunted her into being wakeful while the rest of the city slumbered. He doubted she would tell him. She was far too guarded for that. Her voice was warm, so undeservedly warm. He could feel the care, tender and unrelenting in it. He had a feeling she was like that with anyone she was friends with, even those who were using her like he was trying to.

 

“I just wanted to fuck you …” he blurted out suddenly. He didn’t know what possessed him. Maybe it was thought of breaking her even further by walking away afterwards. Maybe it was the warmth and care in her voice for someone she barely knew. Maybe it was the fact that their spiritual connection ran so deep some part of her had known he needed her.

 

She was silent for a few moments, “I know.”

 

“I was going to fuck you and leave you before I got emotionally attached,” he whispered, the air was still around him, but he could hear her breathing.

 

“I know …”

 

“Y-you don’t hate me?” damn it, the tears were starting to fall harder. He really didn’t want her to hate him. In fact, he realized he really wanted her to care for him, love him, and not as just a friend.

 

“The way I figure it,” she said gently, devastatingly gently, “We all have our scars, our burns, where other people tried to set us on fire, be it accidentally or purposefully. We do all we can to defend those burns and scars and keep from being burned or scarred again. I don’t know what you’ve been through, what you’re feeling, and I won’t pry. Just know, that you don’t have to be alone. You can find help, if you look.”

 

Silence, but not uncomfortable silence. Sweet silence. Abby was … he wasn’t sure where to place her. He realized now that he may be just as scared of her as she was of him. Neither of them wanted to be hurt, but they both felt the attraction. He was also sure if it had been any other woman, he would have continued with his bad habits, fucking anything with a pretty face and nice tits, until the cows came home. Because no other woman would have called in the dead of night because they had a feeling he wasn’t alright. Because no other woman had scars they bore as beautifully and bravely as she. He had a feeling her scars ran much deeper than he could see. He had a feeling, if he could get her trust him, she would be the warmest most open and loving person he would ever find. The issue was, he didn’t trust himself with her, let alone know how to get her to trust him.

 

“You changed your mind though,” her tone was a question itself, “About fucking me.”

 

“I did,” he replied, finally deciding he actually had changed his mind.

 

“You’re a good man Tom,” she said softly.

 

“Why won’t you go out with me? Like on a real date? No sex, just us?” he asked suddenly, the tears starting again. There it was. His only problem with her. Fear of rejection.

 

“Tom … some stories, they’re just not meant to be told,” she whispered, “Lived, I guess. But not told. Maybe some day, maybe even soon, I’ll tell you. I’ll explain to you why all men terrify me and why I can’t sleep most nights without the help of melatonin or anxiety meds. I’ll explain to you why sometimes when I see a certain face in a crowd that looks a certain way, I have to go home because suddenly it hurts to breathe. Maybe sometime I’ll tell you why I can’t trust people when they call me beautiful, or tell me I’m smart, or kind, or loved, or even a good person.”

 

“You are beautiful, and smart, and kind, and loved,” Tom whispered back, “You are a good person.”

 

She laughed, an awkward lilted laugh and he could tell she was crying, “No, I’m not. If – If you want some sort of answer before I can give it … you should read my book. That’s – that’s the best I can do for now.”

 

_God … if he could hold her._

 

“Goodnight Tom,” she whispered. She really was crying now. He could hear it. And he didn’t want to leave her alone like that, but she had already ended the call. He stared at her name in his list of recents. He stared until his vision went blurry. He was crying again. His chest ached like his ribcage was being pulled apart from the middle out.

 

Tom didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He thought about her. And resolved to buy her book in the morning. He also resolved to seek help, to figure out his mind.

 

For the rest of the night, Tom lay staring at the ceiling in his darkened room until the orange English light rolled into the wide open window behind his bed.

 

Somewhere, not far from there, Abigail laid in her bed, tears streaming down her face, clutching the two rings on her necklace in her fervent hands. Wishing she had never met him, wishing she could trust Tom, wishing she could love herself. And crying at audacity of the world for giving her such a shitty hand in life, but … as she had come to say … it is what it is. So she smiled through her tears and watched as the sun rolled into the sky from the window in her room.

 


	6. Simple Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Abby fluff and sweetness with a touch of angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deaaaaries, this is a pretty fuffy chapter, mostky Tom and Abby getting to know one another. With a touch of angst. If you're easily triggered by words of self-destruction (???) and mentions of an anxiety attack, here's your warning. Otherwise, it's pretty fluffy with good decisions and Tom overall trying to be a healthier person. COMMENTS, kudos, BOOKMARKS, all deeply appreciated and so is everyone of you. XO Ghosty

**VI**

 

_(March 13 2017; 11am)_

 

Tom had to force himself out of bed, crawling out on his hands and knees. He staggered to the shower, collapsing of the floor of it. He wasn’t sure how long he was there for. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour. His eyes burned from the lack of sleep, but he couldn’t close them either. He just watched as water fell in big droplets from the large square shower head.

 

Once he was finally able to make it out of the shower, he threw on a pair of joggers, a blue t-shirt, and some Nikes. He couldn’t really bring himself to care how well dressed he was today. Once he was all ready, he grabbed the keys to his flat and headed to the bookstore. It was an easy walk, but it was torturous right now. Every step was agony. Once he arrived, he was going to get himself a Trenta Americano and down that. The bookstore was on the corner of 5th and Vine Streets. He’d never really taken much note of the name before. It was called, Open Doors Books. He walked through the front door, taking comfort in the familiar little bell sound.

 

The waitress at the café waved to him and so did the two on duty booksellers. It seemed he had become a regular. He glanced around to see if Abby was there. His eye barely caught her, curled up tight in one of the armchairs in a corner. Striding over to the café, Tom waited for the baristas attention.

 

“What can I get you today, Mr. Hiddleston?” she asked cheerily, with a friendly smile.

 

“Can you do a trenta Americano?” Tom asked, he even sounded weary, “To go, please.”

 

“Of course, anything else?” she asked, grabbing the biggest cup they had and writing his order on it.

 

Tom glanced at Abby, “That girl … what does she normally drink?”

 

“Abigail? She’s usually a mocha drinker … would you like to get her a drink?” the barista – Tom looked at her name tag, Carrie – asked.

 

Tom nodded, “In a grande please.”

 

“Thank you, Carrie,” he said and paid for their drinks, making sure to leave a fiver in the tip jar.

 

Tom strode over to where Abby was comfortably seated, curled up in her chair. She looked incredibly innocent like that, and equally delectable. She didn’t look up until he was standing right in front of her. Her smile warmed his heart, making him feel the best he had all morning. Deliberately, she set her book on the arm of the chair. Standing up, she took a step closer to him. It shocked him into not moving when she wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself into his chest. He stood a good four inches over her and was able to rest his chin on her head. His arms wound around her smaller frame. The warmth, the genuineness, the kindness nearly had him in tears again. They stood like that, holding each other, for a good minute or two.

 

“Thank you,” he choked out.

 

“I thought you could use that,” Abby said.

 

“You thought right,” Tom whispered.

 

She nudged him with her elbow and said coyly, “Plus, friends can hug. Right?”

 

Tom laughed at her antics. He was happy she was joking about that. It meant her outlook was loose. Or so he thought. He really wished to know her better, her past in particular, but he knew better than to pry. That could end disastrously. He knew not to push someone who was trying to heal.

 

“I got you a drink,” Tom said, leaning towards her like he was confiding something.

 

She grinned, “Oh really? And pray, what did you get me?”

 

 _God, I really love the way she talks. It’s not usual, but it’s quirky_ , he thought.

 

Tom smirked, “A mocha.”

 

The surprised look on her face was worth every penny, “How?”

 

“I never kiss and tell,” Tom shot back.

 

After that hug and only a moment’s conversation, he felt miles better than he had this morning. That nightmare had really taken it out of him. Even the though of it was enough to send his spine stiffening. Abby sidestepped just the slightest closer to him, almost as if she could sense the shift in his attitude. Even that, comforted him. Though, a niggling voice at the back of his head had him wondering if he deserved it, with everything he’d done, with his original intentions with her. He tried his best to shake it off, but for some reason it sat at the base of his mind, like a tick. The two walked to the café counter and picked up their respective drinks.

 

“In all seriousness, thank you for the drink, Tom,” she said, “I love the mochas here. They remind me of Storyville.”

 

“Storyville?”

 

“I’m from Seattle,” she said, “There’s this lovely little coffee shop that started on Bainbridge Island called Storyville. They specialize in locally and/or sustainably sourced goods. Their coffee and food is amazing. And the community is delightful.”

 

“Sounds like something Seattle would produce,” Tom said, teasingly.

 

“Oh, stuff it,” she grumbled.

 

He laughed, “If I’m being honest, that does sound like a very cool place.” Tom admitted, “I wish England did more things like that.”

 

“Maybe someday … we can go there together,” she said, and he would say her voice was almost wistful, but maybe he was projecting because he wanted it to be, “Speaking of going somewhere together … I need to go to the market. I’m running low on actual food.”

 

“Yeah, I haven’t seen you there for a few days …” the subtle admission that he’d been both watching her before officially meeting her and had been looking for her after slipped out before he could stop it. Thank god she seemed to take it in a stride, though he could see a brief strike of panic in her eyes.

 

She sort of glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, “Yeah, uh … I was … avoiding you.”

 

Tom laughed at her admittance. She really was something. Avoiding him, then seeking him out to be friends. He wondered how things worked in her head. Not in a bad way, a simply curious way. He wanted to be privy to her whys and her hows. She blushed furiously, which somehow found even sweeter. She took a sip off the mocha he had gotten her, a chug really. If he had to guess, she was trying to avoid any more embarrassment.

 

“You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed,” it slipped out before he could stop himself.

  
She froze, just the littlest bit. The look on her face broke his heart all over again, an odd mix of broken and acceptance, like she was so used to being called worthless, or unattractive, or whatever that it had become her new normal. That sinking feeling of guilt for his desire to use her for fruitless pleasure and leave her after, bit even harder at the back of his mind and he subconsciously winced.

 

“Sorry … I –“

 

She held up a hand, “Tom, it’s alright. I understand. Let’s just go to the market.” Her voice was forcibly bright and he could smack himself silly for his stupid mouth. Though he knew he shouldn’t feel bad for paying her a sweet compliment, he knew she wasn’t ready to hear that kind of thing, and was even less ready for him to work on her about it. And if he was honest, he wasn’t ready to try and convince her. He wasn’t ready for a relationship in general, and though he didn’t want to admit it with her by his side at the moment, he needed to seek some professional help before diving back into the dating pool.

 

“Before we go, I need to purchase a book,” Tom said, “I’ll be right back, Abby.”

 

She hummed her response as he disappeared with one of the booksellers. Between sips of the warm rich mocha, Abby tried to settle her mind. _You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed_. Nothing made sense right now. _To be honest, you're not that attractive. Lizzy is way more attractive than you._  She shouldn’t be engaging with Tom. She shouldn’t even be in London. She should be happily married in Idaho with her husband while he finished college, but … no. Her chest tightened as her brain struggled to come to terms with the reality of the situation. She was here. He was there. It was over. He wanted nothing to do with her. Her breathing quickened. And her vision began to swim. Oh god … she needed to get a handle on this quickly. She searched her purse frantically for her medication bottle as her breaths became quicker and shallower. She found it in the back pocket, the last place she looked. Popping the lid off, she poured a one milligram tablet into her hand and dropped it into her mouth. She chewed it and swallowed it down with some of the coffee.

 

Tom was just returning when the anxiety medication kicked in. She stuffed the bottle back in her purse, not wanting him to see it. She was sure she looked frazzled and out of sorts and anything but normal, but Tom didn’t say a word. He simply smiled at her, and held up his bag to show that he had already made the purchase. Tom grabbed his Americano, and the two headed to the local market, the air between them more than cleared as she relaxed under the influence of the drug.

 

Tom did notice though, the wounded animal look in her eyes as he approached with his bag. The panicked shoving of something in her purse. If his glimpse was correct, it was a pill bottle. She seemed to calm the longer time went on, as if the fear had been leached from her. While Tom was happy she was feeling better, he was afraid that something as simple as his words had set her off that much.

 

“Thanks for coming with me Tom,” she said, about halfway there.

 

“Of course, I mean,” he said teasingly, “We have been here together before, just not with each other.”

 

She chuckled, a warming sound, that made Tom vibrate from head to toe with pleasure. He knew he really wanted help in that moment. Because there, looking at her, with her tiny hands wrapped around the coffee cup, her cheeks bright in the spring air, her eyes vibrant, but so so sad. He knew, he knew he couldn’t hurt her. He knew he couldn’t be another source pain for her. And he couldn’t let her become just another girl he had used. That would fuck him over even more mentally. Every girl he had slept with in the past couple months, the ones he could recall anyways, were starting to haunt him. Labels of used and hurt stamped to their foreheads in his mind. Tom needed to call Luke to find a therapist, a good one, and fast.

 

Because the longer he looked at her, perusing the different stalls in the market, so beautiful, the more he wanted to sleep with her. And he knew deep down where he didn’t want to quite admit it yet, that that really wouldn’t be good. For either of them.

 

 

 


	7. Varicose Veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Trigger warning for the faint of heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay ... god ... this was such an emotionally charged and wonderful chapter to write. Tom's angst is like burning a hole in my heart. Jesus. Okay. Anyways, COMMENTS, kudos, BOOKMARKS, are all deeply appreciated. And so is every reader. It's just nice to know you actually exist.

**VII**

_(March 13 2017; 6pm)_

 

Tom had been sitting at the desk in his office for over an hour. His finger hovering over Luke’s number. He needed to call the man. He needed to get therapy. He needed to not only do this for her, but himself. Deep down he knew the way he was living wasn’t healthy, normalized and rationalized, but not healthy. He frowned as he stared at the number some more. Why was this so fucking difficult? He knew he needed help, knew it in his bones, but why did he have such a hard time admitting it? Why did his mind want to rationalize and justify?

 

Tom hit dial. It was just another sign of how desperately he needed help. The phone rang three times before Luke answered. He was doing his best to hold it together. He told himself not to cry.

 

“Hey man, what’s up?” Luke said.

 

“Luke … I … I … need help,” Tom’s voice cracked over the last word.

 

Tom would have sworn you could hear a pin drop, it was so silent. He knew Luke was panicking, going through every possibility of what could be wrong and how to counteract it. It was what Luke did. He had probably already gone through a good thirty situations and found a way to diffuse them all.

 

“What’s happened Tom?” his voice was a touch too calm.

 

“I need to see … a therapist,” Tom whispered, “I … the sleeping around … it’s got me … I’ve met this girl.”

 

Tom could almost hear the relieved sigh that whooshed out of Luke. He’d probably made Luke think that he’d gotten some girl pregnant, or had hooked up with Angie again. God, even the thought of that fucked him up inside, had his stomach knotting and his mind writhing. Angie … Angie had originally been just another fling. That, that was when Tom realized that she wasn’t the cause, merely the catalyst for his behaviors. He had already had his attitudes before her, but she did make them much worse. So much worse. That begged the question when this really all began.

 

Tom huffed in frustration as the tears started slipping out from between his tightly closed eyelids. He didn’t know where this all began. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know what to do about it. He couldn’t fix it. He was helpless. A strangled sob leapt from his throat. What was so deep and dark inside him? What was writhing about, trying to resolve itself? Why now? Why now, when this woman, this one perfect woman, had set foot into his life and one wrong move could send her out of it in a lightning flash.

 

“You’d like some counselling?” Luke said calmly.

 

“Yes,” Tom choked out, “I need … I need to figure this out. I need … Luke, I’ve screwed up so many things with perfectly pleasant women. I can’t hurt this one though.”

 

“Tom, it’s okay …” Luke said, his voice even and soothing, “I’ll start working on this right away. We’ll get through this.”

 

“I’m fucking scared Luke,” Tom admitted, finally, “I’m scared that I’ll never have a normal relationship, or find happiness. I’m scared that I’ll hurt this girl. You should see the way she looks at me. She’s terrified. She’s already been hurt … and I can’t … I won’t … I.” The sobbing, deep gut wrenching belly sobs, started again.

 

“Tom, you’ll get your chance,” Luke whispered, his voice gentle and soft and everything it ought not to be towards Tom, “As for the girl, you won’t hurt her. You won’t.”

 

“How do you know?” Tom said through clenched teeth, despising himself for something he hadn’t even done.

 

“What do I always say my job is?” Luke asked tersely.

 

Tom fell silent for a few moments, then muttered, “To keep me on the straight and narrow.”

 

“Exactly, so that’s precisely what I’m gonna do,” Luke said firmly, “I will find you the best damn therapist I can get my hands on and I will make sure you, Tom, get to be happy. And I will make sure you don’t hurt this girl.”

 

This, this was why Tom loved Luke. Luke was giving to a fault and would take action and responsibility like no other man he’d met. Luke deserved a nobel peace prize for how much shit he’d waded through, and would continue to wade through, for Tom. Luke’s convictions were already giving Tom inner strength. He had Luke’s help and support, and he was nearly sure he would have Abby’s. He wanted to be better. 

 

“Thank you,” Tom whispered, unable to do justice to graciousness coursing through him.

 

“I’m gonna work on that therapist, get you an appointment ASAP,” Luke sad, “I’ll give you a call when I have something, mate.”

 

“Again … thank you,” Tom whispered.

 

The click signaled the end of the phone call. Tom sat there in silence for a few moments, coming down from the emotional rush. Now he felt empty and drained, lifeless. He cradled the phone in his hands, wondering whether he could or should call Abby. In the end, he decided he was too emotionally spent for that. Instead, he went to the bag with his newly purchased book and pulled out a copy of The Bitter Moon. It was signed. The cover art was brilliant, a simple moon over a mountain. The moon wasn’t depicted brilliantly white like it so usually was, but grey over a black mountain in an even greyer sky. He flipped it open to the dedication page.

 

 _To Chris_  
_You gave me scars_  
_And I made them into art_

 

That must be the person, the man who ruined her. Some volatile unstable part of Tom wanted to hunt him down and ring his silly stupid neck for her. He never would and was honestly surprised by the desire. He was typically entirely nonviolent. Tom figured it had to do with his instability at the moment. The dedication itself rang so violently of pain and smacked of refusal to cower to that man. And he found her beautiful all over again. He found the fact that she had been burned and hurt and tortured to some extent by him and somehow managed to with those magic hands and that diamond mind, make something gorgeous out of it and herself, relentlessly beautiful. He turned the page. It was poetry. All of it. He filtered through it, until his eye caught on something.

 

 _you poisoned me_  
_you were varicose to my veins_  
_made me spitting and breathing and bleeding_  
_made me venomous with_  
_the very venom you injected into me_  
_but today, i decided no more_  
_i won’t be the toxic one_  
_so i slit my wrists and let your poison_  
_leach from me and suddenly_  
_i was clean, with scars and hopelessness_  
_but finally so very clean_  
_and i decided that you really weren’t_  
_worth the blood in my veins_  
_and the kindness in my heart_

 

Tom read it three times, and he cried. He went back to the beginning of the book. He began on page one. And he read well into the heavy night, and cried, and understood her a little bit more with every passing word. He suddenly understood that we all have our vices, our poisons, our poisoners, and our varicose veins. That didn’t have to stop you from being good and kind. It was because of her that he was able to forgive himself a little that night, trace his fingers over the swollen veins of his wrists and tell himself that he would be alright. It was because of her that he was able to believe in the possibility of goodness in the darkness. She was something else.

 

She was as pure and breathless as the night sky.


	8. Deep Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom uncovers some truths about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo .... OK ... SO >>> Drama >>> Tom in therapy ... self discovery ... some good shit ... next chapter will probably be centered on Abby or the both of hem. HAven't thought that far ahead. Haha! Anyways, COMMENTS, kudos, BOOKMARKS, are super appreciated. Lots of love.

**VIII**

 

_(March 15 2017; 9am)_

 

Tom sat in the waiting room of the therapist’s office. Tom was honestly surprised Luke had found him an appointment on such a short notice. It was a very private room, decorated simply, but tastefully. The long couch was comfortable and the coffee table in the middle of the room was stacked with a couple of psychology magazines. Luke had told him that this guy worked wonders, he had so many good reviews. Even so, Tom was nervous, a little uneasy, and a little disappointed in himself as a person that he had to be here.

 

The room smelled of coffee, probably because of the Keurig in the corner. Tom stood up and began pacing. His nerves were more than a little frayed. He hadn’t spoken to Abby in a few days, he wanted to finish her book first, and she hadn’t reached out to him. It didn’t upset him so much as unsettle him. He was worried about her, but he didn’t want to push. But maybe he needed to. God, this was so confusing, the dos and don’ts with her. He raked a hand through his curls. He hadn’t had sex in over three weeks and the desire was burning him up from the inside out. He was agitated.

 

“Mr. Hiddleston,” the person who opened the door and greeted him didn’t look at all like he expected. He expected some sort of grandfatherly figure with glasses that rested low on the bridge of his nose and careful watchful eyes. This man was his age, maybe even younger, and handsome. He had sharp intense features and coif of gelled silky brown hair. His eyes were soulful, but intense, and grey in color. He was dressed sharply, in ironed slacks and a pastel yellow button down.

 

“Mr. Amhurst?” Tom questioned.

 

“That would be me,” he said with a laugh, “Call me Walden though. We’ll be sharing some intimate time together, and I’d like you to be as comfortable as possible.”

 

He had clearly taken note of Tom’s irritation and generally foul mood.

 

“Tom, then, for me,” he replied, offering his hand.

 

Walden had a good firm hand shake. His hands were warm and large, not unlike Tom’s. Walden released Tom’s hand and opened his office door wider, gesturing for Tom to enter. Tom obliged. The office was decorated similarly to the waiting room, minimalistically, but still elegant. There was a small couch, or a loveseat, as they were called and an armchair facing it.

 

“Make yourself comfortable,” Walden said, “Would you like any water? Or some crackers?”

 

Tom sat on the couch and wordlessly shook his head. Walden sat opposite him in the armchair. The two were silent for a long while, Tom trying not to look too much at Walden, observing, judging. Eventually, Walden sat back in his chair, regarding Tom with curious eyes.

 

“What brought you to me Tom?” he asked.

 

“I …”

 

“Take your time, no rush here.”

 

“I haven’t had a real relationship in so long,” Tom mused after a long accentuated silence, “I’m not really sure if I ever had. I … I can’t connect. It’s all about the sex, and the next time I can get off. I thought it started with this girl I was seeing for awhile, her name was Angie, but recently I realized she wasn’t so much a cause as a catalyst.”

 

“What do you mean by that?” Walden asked.

 

“My sex drive was always through the roof, whenever I got stressed, you know?” Tom continued, “But there was not really any real relationships formed. Short lived fling type things, you know, but nothing real. Whenever it started to get serious, I backed off, disappeared.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I … don’t … know …” Tom’s frustration was more than evident.

 

“Do you understand why you’re here?” Walden asked, as if Tom hadn’t just explained. That just irritated him further.

 

“I just – “

 

“No … do you _understand_ why you’re here?”

 

“I’m miserable like this …” Tom finally admitted, tears starting to leak out of his eyes, “Used and using. I’m lonely and miserable. I want someone to appreciate me for more than my dick and I want to be able to value someone for more than their breasts. I want to believe in real connections again.”

 

“When did you stop believing?” Walden asked, gently.

 

Tom sat there in silence for a while. He looked deep inside trying to find out when he stopped believing in relationships as they were supposed to be. He looked past Angie lying in bed with another nameless faceless man. He looked past Taylor and her lack of desire to be “public”. He looked past Kat who just didn’t fit. He looked past Maura who had supported him through the beginning of his acting career, but ultimately left when he slept with a co-star. He looked past Cecilia his intermediate girlfriend who he’d loved, but just not enough. He looked at Leanna, his first shag, his first girlfriend who he’d broken up with a week later. He looked even further back. Until he saw himself sitting folded on his twin sized bed, listening to his parents fight and fight. When he went from having the perfect family to having none at all. Tears of anger, frustration, abandonment creeping down his face. And he couldn’t look his parents in the eyes the next morning because what was once perfect suddenly wasn’t and what was once ideal just didn’t make sense. He was a young boy, learning already from the sins of his parents. Learning not to trust that the best of relationships aren’t always built to last. He was a young boy, at that tender age where everything made an impression, and it was impressed upon him that even though you were married, sometimes it wasn’t real. Tom wasn’t sure how long he’d been silent for, but it was a long time. Or it felt like one.To this day, he couldn't form a real relationship for fear of having one like his parents'.

 

“When my parents got divorced,” Tom whispered, “That’s when I stopped believing.”

 

Walden smiled, “You just realized that, didn’t you?”

 

Tom nodded, “I didn’t realize it had been having that big of an impact on me.”

 

Walden shook his head sadly, “Most of us don’t, where are parents are concerned, unless it was something blatant, like physical or emotional abuse. The thing is, our parents have a massive impact on how we form and what kind of relationships we form. It’s likely that you felt and still feel unsafe forming a mutual emotional and mental bond with someone, fearing that they’ll disband it. Or it will degrade.”

 

That was it. Nail. Head. Sex was safe, pleasurable, fun. Connecting with someone to the level that a relationship required was unstable, unsafe, and stressful. Sex was easy, relationships were hard.

 

“How do I fix it?” Tom asked desperately.

 

Walden leaned forward a little, “I’m leery of giving clear directions in terms of the emotional and mental channels because just because I think something will work for you, doesn’t mean it will. However, often times, the only way to uncross those mixed up wires is by making that connection, learning what you didn’t early on.”

 

“So … you’re saying I should try and have an actual relationship to have an actual relationship,” Tom muttered.

 

“When you put it like that it doesn’t sound particularly helpful, but yes,” Walden chuckled, “It won’t be easy. Every instinct will tell you to run, or sleep with someone, or sleep with whatever woman you’ve chosen. It will go against your bred fears and you might slip up and fail, but you have to keep trying. That’s what will be vital, breaking past that barrier you’ve set up. And you’ll have help, your publicist, Luke, is very supportive. You’ll have my number. You can call when it gets a little too real.”

 

“It makes sense,” Tom said slowly, “And thank you.”

 

“Of course, Tom,” Walden said, “Like I said though, it won’t be an easy or natural journey. In the end though, you will find it worth every second. Now, I believe it’s our time.”

 

Tom hoped so. He thanked Walden again. Tom went home and continued reading. The book was becoming his bible very quickly, a guidebook to Abby’s heart and soul. Every word was an insight into her warmth, and darkness, and light. Every moment he spent reading them was torture and bliss at the very same time, learning of her, but not through her. 

 

 

 


	9. Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst ... lots of angst ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE UPDATE ... WOOHOO ... BAsically more angst, but then onto the fluff ... and past rearing it's head and all that dramatic good stuff. Next chapter will probably be SUPER fluffy, then if things are going o go the way I've been thinking, a bomb. Not an actual one. But like ... yeah. I have already said too much. ANYWAYS, BOOKMARKS, kudos, COMMENTS, all are greatly appreciated!! Lots of love. XO Ghosty

**IX**

_(March 15 2017; 6pm)_

 

Abby expected the evening call from her mother. They talked about the kids, all her siblings, how they were doing. They talked about the upcoming school performances and grades. They talked about the fickle Seattle weather. They glazed over her step-father and how his work was. They even touched up on some of her old friends that she no longer spoke to. What’s more important than what they talked about though, is what they didn’t talk about. They didn’t talk about her new apartment in London. They didn’t talk about Abby visiting. They didn’t talk about Tom or her book or anything sensitive. She said hello to all the kids, she said goodbye to all the kids, and she said goodbye to her mom. They were by no means on the same clock, but her mom called like they were.

 

“I love you guys, talk soon,” she said before pressing the end call button.

 

Gatsby was curled up on the end of her bed, sleeping peacefully amidst the pile of blankets. The stereotype of girls and pillows had never been true for Abby. She loved blankets, and always had at least five on her bed at all times. She swathed herself in them, folded up for warmth, security, comfort, everything a blanket provided. Gently, Abby poked one of her toes at the sleek grey cat. He lazily opened one eye at her, and blinked it slowly, before flopping onto his back and extending all his limbs. Abby smiled at him, and gently poked his belly with her toe. Shaking her head with a smile, Abby stood and stretched.

 

She meandered into the kitchen. Thanks to her recent trip to the market, her kitchen had fresh salmon, risotto, portabella mushrooms, fresh ginger, and asparagus. Plus, she’d been able to pick up a good delicate rosé to go with the salmon. The salmon she’d broil seasoned with just a little salt and lemon juice. Then she’d do the risotto with the mushrooms and ginger, a good spicy side dish. Finally, the asparagus would be broiled as well, roasted until barely blackened. The completing factor to the dish would be the hollandaise to go over the fish and asparagus. Abby didn’t believe in much anymore, but she did believe in good eating. And that was good eating, and drinking.

 

It wasn’t often she drank to excess with alcohol anymore. In the first few weeks after everything, she had drank, a lot, and smoked. She had tried to numb herself up using everything and anything she could get her hands on. After the first couple weeks, she had a thorough chat with herself and concluded that that would no longer be acceptable. According to science, alcohol may be a solution, but she knew medically and mentally, it really wasn’t. So she stopped drinking, except on really bad nights, nights that she just couldn’t stop remembering. Remembering his name, his face, the way her touched her, and said her name, remembering the way he used to love her, but most of all remembering that he no longer did. After the drinking phase, she slept a lot, slept weeks of her life away to avoid it. Then came the thirst. It wasn’t a thirst for a alcohol or him or even vengeance. It was a thirst for life. So she wrote, she penned down every word and every feeling she had had in those weeks. She wrote until her fingers were stiff and cramped. She wrote until she could feel herself writing him out of her system, writing him out of her forever stories with laughing kids and a happy home. She didn’t end those stories entirely, just wrote him out of them. She made some realizations while she wrote.

 

She realized that he really didn’t love her anymore, and no, he wasn’t coming back. She realized she didn’t need him to come back. She realized, she really didn’t want him to. She realized she wasn’t afraid anymore, of losing him, of being left. He made claims of staying, but he’d take off again just as she began to trust him. And he was so sure of himself, so sure she’d always be there, but she wouldn’t. She was so … bored … by his drama. He’d walk out and leave her in ruins, all with a smile, but every time he taught her a little better, a little more, on how to live without him. She couldn’t give him every piece of her anymore.

 

Abby was jolted out of her thoughts by the sound of her phone ringing. She went back to the bedroom and picked it up off her bed. It was Tom. She hadn’t heard from him in a couple days. Part of her assumed he had gotten bored and moved onto better more stable things, but she also wanted to think the best of him. She saw that he really was a good man and didn’t want to make the massive mistake of equating him with Chris.

 

She pressed the answer button, “Hello.”

 

“Abby?” his voice sounded so much more alive than the last few times they’d spoken and she smiled.

 

“Hey, how are you?” she asked.

 

“Well, really well. I – I had a therapy session today,” Tom admitted, “It went really well. I just … I finished your book.”

 

She laughed, “That went in about a million directions at once.”

 

She could hear his smile, “Abby … I’d like to tell you something …” He paused, “But I don’t want to freak you out …”

 

“Fair enough,” she replied gently, trying not to have an anxiety attack from his statement, “What is it?”

 

“I’d really like to tell you in person,” Tom said, “The park across from the bookstore. Can we meet there in the morning?”

 

“I … uh … I,” she faltered, trying to find a reason, any reason, not to. The panic was blinding.

 

“Abby …” Tom’s voice was soothing, gentle, caring, careful, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Or if there’s somewhere you’d be more comfortable, I’m more than happy to oblige. The last thing I want is to scare you.”

 

_Scare me …_ She thought distantly.

 

“The park sounds great,” she choked out, trying not to throw up in her panic.

 

Often times, her anxiety gave her nausea. Sometimes, she woke at three am for no apparent reason to run to the bathroom so she could vomit bile into the toilet. Her heart pounding, tears streaming down her face, trying to hold it together for just, just one, moment longer.

 

“Abby …”

 

She didn’t reply.

 

“Abby … it’s going to be okay,” Tom whispered, his voice so desperately gentle. Those words, simple as they were, calmed her down. She wasn’t used to that. She was used to Chris’s snide little jibes, meant to prick and make her bleed, meant to make her anxiety worse, not better. It was a sweet relief to hear something of comfort from another person.

 

She had learned long ago that nobody picked you up when you fell once you reached a certain age. Nobody tenderly kissed the wounds on your hands and knees and helped bind them and clean them. Nobody held you when you cried or kissed your tears away. In her case, nobody ever had. She was always doing that for everybody else, all her little siblings, trying to keep them far away from their parents’ drunken arguments, trying to make them understand why things weren’t good or normal. Listening to her mom yell and her step father yell and trying to make them all love her, love her, love her. Nobody came for her when she cried, so eventually, she stopped expecting them to.

 

“Thank you, Tom,” her voice was steady, but genuine, “I’m going to make myself some dinner.”

 

“Of course,” his reply was easy, but wistful. She could tell he wanted to keep talking to her. She just couldn’t though, too many memories of one too many bad nights.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she offered him softly.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tom said, “Goodnight.”

 

She hummed in reply and ended the call.

 

The thing about being broken is that you never know how broken you are until it’s too late. Until you’re standing alone in a living room, unable to stop crying, because you’re terrified the one person who promised to be there, decided not to be anymore. Until you’ve spent an hour sitting at the bottom of a shower long gone cold, trying to wrap your heart around these feelings of being unwanted. Until you can’t look your mom in the eye because you realize she could have, should have, done better. Until you hate the world and a god you no longer want to believe in for handing you this life you never fucking asked for. Because what kind of god let’s little girls cry for mommies that don’t come and daddies that never were. Because what kind of world thinks it’s okay for people to use and abuse each other all in the name of family and love? Because what kind people laughed when you cried and said things just to wound?

 

She would be tender, she would be kind, she would love, and be compassionate. She just would no longer trust. She couldn’t believe in natural human goodness anymore. She believed in neutrality. Everybody was neutral until proven guilty.

 

Abby took a deep breath, “I’m going to be okay.” She whispered it to herself. Again. Again. Just like the therapists taught her. _I’m going to be okay_. Again. Again. Again. Until she numbly believed it. She would be okay … even if she wasn’t. Even if she went down in flames, she would be okay.

 

The thing is ... she wanted to be ... happy. And Tom, Tom made her happy. He had done nothing but be honest and kind, down to his less than honest original intentions. 

 

_Tom_ ,

She thought,

_I'm going to trust you._

 


	10. Sweet Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. And Angst. And a hint at drama to come. Tom and Abby have a talk that changes their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay ... so ...not entirely satisfied with this chapter ... but also couldn't think of a way to make it better I guess ... this one was hard ... I was expecting it to be more fluff ... but there's still lot's of angst ... not surprised there though ... there's going to be angst for awhile where these two are concerned. Anyways, thoughts? COMMENTS, kudos, BOOKMARKS are all super appreciated. And so is every reader! XO Ghost

**X**

_(March 16 2017; 10am)_

 

The park was nearly empty. That probably had more to do with the weather than the park itself. Thick grey clouds had settled low over London, letting out an occasional burst of mist-like rain. It reminded Abby of Seattle. The weather was very similar between the two places. She didn’t mind that though, she didn’t mind the bleak grey weather. It meant she had an excuse to stay inside often times.

 

She spotted Tom standing next to the only wooden bench in the park. He was shifting from foot to foot, looking generally anxious. She felt a little bad for him, the weird ups and downs with her couldn’t be easy to navigate, yes vs no, stop vs go. She also knew she had to take care of herself now. She’d spent so long looking after everybody else, she needed to do something for herself. So if she for one moment thought Tom was using her, she would be gone before he could blink.

 

She approached him cautiously, bundled in layers of jacket. It was a nice thick down-filled North Face, one of the few things she’s brought with her from Seattle. Tom caught sight of her a few yards away, and turned towards her with a smile. A smile she returned quickly, hoping to put both him and herself at ease. He was holding two cups of coffee, both sleeved, and steaming. The fact that he thought to get her something warmed her heart.

 

“Hey,” she said quietly, semi avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t sure if it was out of shyness or anxiety.

 

“Good morning,” Tom said brightly, offering her the cup. She took it from him with a grateful smile and a sweet thank you.

  
“So … you wanted to talk,” she said, trying to cut straight to the core of her anxiety at the moment.

  
Tom took a deep breath and exhaled. Abby thought he looked extraordinarily beautiful in this weather. His skin was milky and clear, his high cheekbones cutting through the heavy air. His eyes, a watery whirlpool of ocean blue brought out by the bleakness of his surroundings. It was his hair that brought life to his face, the golden brown strawberry blond color made his face vibrant. He had the kind of face women swooned over and men envied.

 

“I do …” he said softly, “I’d like to see your eyes though. Is that possible?”

  
She forced her chin up and looked him in the eyes. Tom saw galaxies in those green eyes. It occurred to him that people wrote a lot about girls with brown eyes and girls with blue eyes, but girls with green eyes, they didn’t get enough attention. She tried her best not to blush under his gaze, or look away. The anxiety though was nearly buckling her over. Her chin shook slightly as she tried to reign in her runaway feelings.

  
“Abby … I want to have a real relationship with you,” Tom said, “Being your friend, I don’t know if I can do that for very long. I – I’m very attracted to you, and not just sexually. I know that you and I having sex right now wouldn’t be good for either of us, it’s too shallow, but a relationship …”

  
On some level, she’d known this was coming. And a part of her had wanted it. She couldn’t deny the attraction between them, and he was right, it wasn’t just sexual. She found herself wanting to trust him, open up to him, bleed for him like she would refuse to bleed for anyone else. She wanted the mental and spiritual connection that seemed to click when they were around each other. She wanted to know him, understand him, more intimately than bodily. She wanted to learn his soul and wanted him to learn hers. She wasn’t sure she was ready to admit that yet though, or face it.

  
Her hand went to the two rings on her necklace. In truth, a part of her still hadn’t let go, walked away completely, that’s why she still wore the rings. Proof that it was real, that it still existed, that it had been there. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this at all. Her mind flashed to his face, brown eyes, tan skin, goofy grin. Her mind flashed to a memory of skin on skin, mouth on mouth.

  
She looked at Tom, so different, and yet so very similar. Both boys with those sad ocean eyes and goofy grins. Both boys who started out by liking her. She knew it was wrong to compare Tom to Chris. Chris had done unspeakable things to her, hurt her in unbreathable ways. Tom had been nothing but kind and respectful, going so far as to be upfront about his lustful intentions. Chris had never been so honest. Liar. Faker. Deceiver. Wounder.

  
“I want to take our time, get to know each other,” Tom continued, knocking Abby out of her thoughts, “I want to have a good relationship with you, but if that’s too much for you, I’m okay with that. I just don’t know that I can continue being friends for very long.”

  
Abby stared at him, “I –.”

  
“I don’t want you doing anything out of pressure,” Tom said, “I – I also want to stay away from sex. Not that I don’t want to have sex with you. I do. Trust me. I just want to make sure what we have is real before … pardon my language … fucking. You’re too … I don’t even know … I just don’t want you to end up hurt. And I’m tired of shallow physical connections that leave me more hurt every time.”

  
“You … have changed a lot in the last forty-eight hours,” Abby said slowly, smiling.

  
Tom chuckled, “Well, I think it’s been coming for awhile now. Since my last girlfriend really. You kind of set fire to the fuse though. I saw you, and I saw how hurt you’d be if I just fucked you and left you. And then I read your book … I still have a long way to go, I’m not changed, but my mentality has.”

  
“I see,” Abby said softly.

  
“I want to be a better kind of man,” Tom admitted, “I’m scared that I can’t though …”

  
“You can …” Abby said, fiercely, and unexpectedly to the both of them, “Anyone can become better. They just have to choose it. Not all people do. And it’s sad when people don’t, but that’s human nature and free will. That’s how you know who really values you. You have it in you. I’ve seen it.”

  
“Thank you …”

  
She just nodded.

  
“I guess my point is I like you … but being friends, I don’t think is an option. I’m too attracted to you, and eventually, the urge to fuck you shallowly will become overwhelming,” Tom said, “Not that being in a relationship would make it go away … I just … I … God … I’m mucking this up … I want to be with you … I want to … I –.”

  
“Tom …” Abby said, “I get it. I just … I’m a little overwhelmed … and there’s … other … things.”

  
“You don’t have to –“

  
“I know,” she interrupted gently, “I … want this too … I just don’t want your hard work going down the drain because of me. I want you to have nothing but good experiences on your journey of self-discovery.” She gave him a smile at the last part, the slightest bit teasing, to add some levity to the heaviness between them at the moment. It worked, he chuckled and gently pushed his elbow against her.

  
“Let’s take it slowly then, yeah?” Tom asked, his voice so hopeful.

  
The problem was she wanted this so bad. She wanted all the things she couldn’t have with Chris with him. She wanted a decent balanced relationship, filled with support and care, not centered on physical pleasure or the emotional ups. She knew she could have that with him, but it would be hard. And painful. And could possibly end with her more hurt than before. It could also end beautifully. It was all in her hands too. She knew Tom was respectful and would do whatever she wanted. He also knew himself and what he wanted and wasn’t beholden to simply following her.

“Okay, Tom,” she said softly, “Okay. Let’s just … take it slowly.”

  
She knew she should tell him more about her situation, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She so desperately wanted things to work between them. She just couldn’t tell him. Not yet. She also didn’ want him accidentally finding out.

  
“Let’s talk more … tell me about you,” Tom said excitedly, a kid in a candy store, happy, giddy even.

  
“What do you want to know?” she swallowed down her fear.

  
“Everything,” he was breathless. He looked at her with a shyness in his eyes she hadn’t seen before, “Can I … May I hold your hand?”

  
She smiled at him. And it blew both of them away. She could see her heart being able to settle comfortably within his, making a home, a life together. She offered him her hand, small and delicate. It sent a thrill through both of them to find how perfectly her small delicate hands fit inside his large broad long-fingered ones. Her heart spasmed despite itself. It had been so long since she had felt this way. Warm. Cared about.

  
She talked about herself, longer and more in depth than she had to anyone in a long time. Things were … good. They felt right for once instead of off kilter and out of balance. Something at the back of her mind though, reminded her how delicate this all was. How it could all be ruined with the slightest wrong movement. She swallowed down her fear, her anxiety, and walked with Tom. Happy. She could be happy. It was possible. It was possible.

 

 

 


	11. To This Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff pure fluff. Tom going on about Abby and sorting some things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay ... LONG CHAPTER ... a little fluffy ... a little angsty ... but that's how I seem to do it apparently ... COMMENTS, kudos, BOOKMARKS, are all SUPER appreciated. Lots of love.

**XI**

 

_(March 27 2017; 6pm)_

 

Every moment Tom spent with Abby, everything he learned about her, made him like her a little more. She was so bright and honest and driven. She was everything he needed in a woman, especially on a journey such as the one he was trying to make. Abby was fully supportive, kind about everything. She even said she would be willing to speak to his therapist about ways to help him.

 

It wasn’t easy though. She still balked at any form of intimacy, but she pried herself open for Tom, talking to him about her childhood. Daughter of two alcoholics in a large Catholic family. She practically raised her siblings, whose names Tom vowed to memorize, even if it was the death of him. She never knew her father and her step-father abused her. She didn’t give him a lot of details about that, a vague mention with an awkward laugh when he asked about her parents. Even after that, she still spoke to the both of them, was on good terms even. In Tom’s eyes, she was practically an angel. It was a miracle she was willing to even give him a chance considering her history with men.

 

The one thing he was desperate to ask about was the one thing he knew not to touch though. She wore two rings on a necklace around her neck. One was a pretty thing with a solitaire diamond inlaid in a band of twisted rose gold and sterling silver, the other was a plain rose gold band. He wanted to know if Chris had picked them or if she had. He wanted to know why in the world she still wore them, especially considering everything he’d read in The Bitter Moon. He knew better though, than to ask about Chris. He knew sometimes she still thought of him, he could usually tell. She’d get this hazy drugged empty look in her eyes. Tom would pull her back with a gentle brush of hand against hand, or hand on cheek. He knew she was thinking of him because her hand went to those two rings.

 

She opened herself up to him, brilliantly, trusting him to be better, different. She was a fire, a comet, a star. They could communicate on the same mental plane, debate their differences, and shrug it off as having different opinions ten minutes later without any bitter feelings. It wasn’t about winning an argument, or being right, it was about understanding one another. Tom would say something Shakespearean and she would come back with something out of a teen dystopian novel. He’d brush his fingertips against her soft cheeks and laugh as she made some stupid joke.

 

He learned she had a filthy mouth, swore far more than was probably considered healthy. She used to never swear, not even ‘crap’. Then one day, she just decided to stop censoring herself. As she put it, she realized there was no real reason not to use “swear” words other than that they were made taboo by society. She stopped believing in censorship of language then. It was the same words, they were just picked to be the bad ones. According to her, swearing was also good for mental health, a good way to release pent up negative emotions, an excellent way to express passion of any kind. She wasn’t self-righteous about it though. If someone kindly asked her to not swear in front of them, she politely did as requested. She was incredibly respectful of people.

 

He loved that about her. He learned very quickly though too that she had a filthy temper to match her filthy mouth. She had a short fuse, but thank god she didn’t get terribly angry or stay angry for long. That’s one of the reasons Tom didn’t feel like he had tread on glass around her, like he had felt with so many women. Tom felt like a lot of women expected you to be able to understand all the subtleties of what they said all the time. Abby though, she said what was on her mind bluntly, sometimes a little too bluntly.

 

She never took more than she gave. She was generous. If you pushed, she would push back though and often times harder than she was pushed. She didn’t screw around. The first time he witnessed it was just two days after their conversation. She was dressed in a short black skirt, knee socks, an oversized pink sweater, and shiny black doc martens. Some middle-aged man made a snide comment about the length of her skirt. She looked like fire, the embodiment of hell fire. She chewed him out for judging women on their appearances and focusing on their bodies. He had never heard curses like that. She had the mouth of a sailor, but she was the kindest person. She was so full of contradictions, she was built of them. Proof that beauty and grace could be found even in the worst of things.

 

The better he got to know her though, the more he wanted to sleep with her. At first, he justified it as a natural reaction to connecting with someone the way they were, but he realized as he lay in bed thinking of her that maybe it was his barrier going up. Maybe, it was a combination of both. Maybe he wanted sex because subconsciously his mind knew he was finally getting intimate with someone. Maybe he wanted sex because he wanted to clarify this connection physically. Then he was disgusted with himself for even thinking that. He knew, he knew, he didn’t need sex to confirm their bond. It was an excuse.

 

He called her then, just to talk to her, get her thoughts. He loved picking her brain. He also wanted some form of reassurance that she wasn’t going to walk out, or something ridiculous. She talked to him well into the am.

 

“Abby can you tell me something? Just so I can hear it?”

 

She hummed sleepily. He could hear her cat purring through the phone.

 

“Can you tell me you don’t want to have sex with me? So I stop thinking about it …”

 

He could hear her yawn, and then bluntly, “No. That would be lying. I do want to sleep with you, but not yet. That would damage … this … us. And I –“ another yawn, “Don’t want that.”

 

Us. He really liked the sound of that. He didn’t want to ruin that. Somehow, she always knew what to say that would put him at ease, better than he even knew. Maybe that’s why they met, she was always ready and willing to give him what he needed, and she always seemed to know. She shone in the dark places like nothing he’d ever seen. The worst thing though, the thing that drove him crazy about her, is that she believed she was the darkness. Every compliment he breathed, every awed stare he cast in her direction, fell on deaf ears and blind eyes. That … that monster had her so convinced she was undeserving of kindness, of love. Tom could barely believe she had fallen into his life like a shooting star.

 

He felt like she was holding back though. Just enough to be cautious, watching him, waiting for the tragedy to strike. He knew he couldn’t make her promises, shouldn’t make her promises, but he wanted to promise her the world on a silver platter. The thing about Tom is that when he decided on something, he poured his heart and soul into it, every ounce. He fantasized and hoped. He had always been an optimistic person, a dreamer. He jumped into things a little too early, and pulled out a little too late.

 

Part of him briefly wondered if he was on about her for the novelty of it all, of her. Most of the women he pursued were deeply shallow and vain. He ultimately decided it was more than that. He knew that feeling. He felt that way with Taylor, the obsession because of the novelty. This definitely wasn’t it. This really was something … special. Though, he felt that that was too frivolous a word for it.

 

He’d remember the moment she really opened up to him for the first time. She invited him to what she called a poetry spit, which to his understanding meant a bunch of local poets got together and recited their works. They were every Monday evening, at this local pub called The Cure. Tom agreed to go, curious, and nervous. They met at the pub at seven. She was dressed in a black crop top and high-waisted black jeans. Her curly hair was slicked back. In her arms, she cradled a leather-bound notebook, that was worn and tattered with different sticky notes poking out. He noticed her hands were covered in ink stains.

 

“Hello, darling,” he said softly.

 

She offered him her hand, tucking the book under her other arm, “Hey. How are you doing?”

 

“I’m excellent!” he told her brightly, “I’ve never been to a poetry splash before.”

 

She knew he was teasing him about the name and muttered, “Ass,” under her breath. This only egged Tom on and made him laugh. There was something about getting under her skin that delighted him.

 

“Okay … it might be a little weird,” she explained, “Um … you won’t be expected to share anything. Just sit there and look pretty.”

 

“Really? Is that all I’m good for?” he teased.

 

She rolled her eyes, “Of course, Tom Hiddleston with the bod of a greek god, how I live and breathe to be able to only lay eyes upon thine magnificence.” Her voice was unbelievably dry, but the second Tom started giggling – actual giggling – she started cracking up as well.

 

“Good to know I have such faith from my Hiddlestoners,” he joked.

 

“You’re impossible!” she exclaimed, “Come on, let’s go inside! I’m freezing my ass off!”

 

He couldn’t help but take a peek. She was so delightfully curvy. The jeans didn’t help. They fit her … really well. Tom shook his head to clear it. He didn’t want to go too far down that path. It was an easy step from thoughts to actions. And they weren’t ready yet. Nowhere near ready.

 

They pushed inside the pub. It was smoky little joint, with a small stage tucked in the corner. Red stage lights shone in a circle on a worn barstool in the center of the stage with a mic. The bar was well stocked. The place, overall was clean, a little quaint. Tom guessed it’d have to be though to host a poetry spit. There were already a dozen people milling around, no one had taken the stage though. In the background, music played quietly, something ambient.

 

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked, gently pressing his mouth against her ear to make sure she heard him.

 

“That sounds nice,” she replied, “A double shot of whisky, straight up. Do you want my card?”

 

“Shots?” he asked. The idea of her doing shots surprised him, particularly of anything that wasn’t tequila. Though he really should know by now not to judge her by what she seemed like.

 

“You seem surprised …” always to the point.

 

“You seem like … a sweet fruity drinks kind of girl,” Tom admitted.

 

She looked horrified, “Why?”

 

“You seem … delicate … not in a bad way …” Tom said.

 

She laughed, in his face. He realized she was a very gentle quiet person, but not by nature. Naturally, she was loud, opinionated, borderline brash, funny … It was a contrast. A balance. None of the traits were so prevalent it was painful or annoying. He was surprised by that realization. He’d been seeing her so solidly, as something purely one dimensional, something broken but beautiful. Not a person whose traits were interwoven to form this uncannily balanced person, who somehow managed survive unthinkable situations on sheer will and wit.

 

Gently, she patted him on the back, “Tom … you still have a thing or two to learn about me.”

 

And he was so happy that he did.

 

“Good,” he said, “I’ll never get tired of learning about you.”

 

She turned to him, her posture spoke volumes of vulnerability, “What about once you know everything there is to know?”

 

Gently, with every ounce of emotion he could convey, he gently cupped her left cheek with his hand, “Then I will be happy to have learned everything and will deeply appreciate your strength for opening up to me like that.”

 

It could have been the light glinting in her gorgeous green eyes, but Tom swore he could see her eyes fill with tears that didn’t fall. She held his hand to her face. For a moment he saw something in her, determination. He wasn’t sure what it was about.

 

“Go get those drinks, Tom,” she said.

 

He smiled, and gently kissed her fingertips. They still hadn’t shared an actual kiss. Tom was waiting for that, the moment had to be perfect. He wanted her to be absolutely comfortable, and he didn’t want to rush it. He disappeared to the bar and ordered the two drinks. He got a double bourbon on the rocks. Carrying the shots to her was a little bit of a balancing act, but he made it. She had taken a seat at the edge of the room and was chatting with an older man.

 

“Hello,” Tom greeted as he approached. He loved the way her eyes lit up when she saw him.

 

“Hey, Tom, this is Ashe,” she said, “He runs the poetry spit.”

 

“Your lovely lady here is one of our best,” the older man said, he had a sagging wrinkly face and sharp blue eyes, and a thick cockney accent, “Never fails to bring the house to tears or howling with laughter.”

 

“I’m excited to see this,” Tom admitted, “She has such a way with words. I’ve never heard her perform though.”

 

“She used to refuse,” Ashe said, “Didn’t like the attention. Got four shots into the girl one day though, and couldn’t get her to shut it.”

 

“As if you’d want me to,” Abby mumbled before throwing back one of the shots.

 

“See what I mean?” Ashe joked, he fell silent for a moment, “I remember what you performed. The Bitter Moon. Everyone cried. I’ll never forget that … She’s something special. Treat her right, Tom.”

 

The poetry readings began a little less than an hour later. Some were really excellent, moving, funny. Others were less than. Everyone got applauded though. Abby stayed at his side the whole time, they held hands beneath the table. Their fingers curled together, her thumb sometimes absently drawing circles over the top of his hand. It was thrilling. Finally, Ashe climbed up on stage and recited a silly little limerick about a fish seller at the market. When he was through, had bowed, and the applause had died down, he leaned into the mic.

 

“Let’s get a good welcome for our last of the night,” he said, “Abby come on up here.”

 

“Good luck,” Tom said.

 

“I don’t need it,” she said with a small smile.

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Because I’m going to be honest,” she said with a sly little smile before disappearing.

 

Ashe climbed off the stage. And there she was, beneath the circle of red stage lights. Her eyes shone, and her pale skin seemed to glow. She opened up her leather-bound and sat on the stool, lowering the mic to rest comfortably at her mouth.

 

“ _When I was a little girl, I never knew my daddy. And the daddy I did know never loved me. When I was a little girl, I grew up too fast so that my little brothers didn’t have to. When I was a little girl, I was terrified that no one would ever love me because no one ever had_ ,” she paused and Tom would swear you could have heard a pin drop, “ _When I was older, I met my daddy and I learned he really didn’t care. When I was older, I met a boy who played at being a man for me but left deeper scars than everybody else. To this day, I am still terrified that no one will ever love me, because it feels like no one ever has. To this day, I wake up in the middle of the night gasping for air in my aching breast because I am so alone. To this day, I cry myself to sleep sometimes because I can’t shut my mind off_.” She paused again, and it seemed like she stared right at Tom as she continued, “ _To this day, I am terrified, frozen, scared, waiting for flowers to bloom in barren soil, waiting for a spring that hasn’t come since the day I was born. I have been living in a winter of forgotten birthdays, drunken rages, screaming, and yelling. I … saw … a flower the other day. The beginnings of one, blooming out of the barren soil, bursting, begging to be given life. And you came, and you watered it. And I’m still scared, but your smile puts me at ease. I’m still scared, but your hands calm me down. I’m still terrified, but you seem like the spring I’ve been waiting for._ ” Tom was trying not to cry desperately, they were in public for god’s sake, but every word dug deeper and deeper within him, nestling, “ _You are all the good things I’ve been looking in the wrong places for. So, please, be patient with me. Please, be gentle. Because, to this day, I’m still scared. But I will take that leap for you._ ”

 

The applause was thunderous. He couldn’t see through the blurry tears in his eyes. He was awestruck that she had written something, for him, about him, then vulnerablized herself enough go up on stage and perform it. She was there in his arms in the next moment. The crowd had begun to mingle, groups forming to chat about what they’d heard, critique, praise. She was there, wrapping her arms around his neck, he wrapped his around her waist. It felt like nothing else mattered. He saw the tears falling onto her cheeks. And he kissed her. Gently, he pressed his mouth to hers, melding them. He could feel the fire, soft and blooming in his chest, the tingle that spread through all his limbs. It felt like nothing else in the world mattered except that one moment. Frozen in time. Kissing this god blessed woman. She was warm, and so soft, and tasted like whisky and mint. When they finally separated, they stood, foreheads pressed together for a long while. They were surrounded by people, but it didn’t matter, they were the only things that mattered.

 

“Did you like it?” she whispered, almost nervously.

 

“Like it? I loved it,” Tom whispered, stroking her cheek with his long fingers, “Thank you, so much, for sharing that with me.”

 

She blushed under his praise and he kissed her, a soft peck, just for the thrill of it.

 

She looked at him, determined, but scared, “Tom … I have something to tell you.”

 

He hummed a response.

 

“The reason I still wear these rings on my necklace,” she whispered, swallowing, “I’m still technically married …”

 

Tom froze. _Wait … what?_

 


	12. The Bitter Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Abigail have nother talk that changes their relationship. Will it end for the better or worse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhehee ... sorry not sorry about the ending to the last chapter ... I'm doing a DOUBLE UPDATE so I don't feel tooo bad. Hope this chapter hits everyone right in the feels like it did me. I think it turned more fluff than angst. Eh? Maybe? Next chapter will probably be more fluffy stuff. Warning: smutt may be happening after the next two or three chapters. Possibly, depending on which way I decide to go on the next two chapters. I'll post a warning in the notes of the decided chapter. Anyways, ENJOY, my dears. COMMENTS, kudos, BOOKMARKS, etc. are all dearly beloved and hoarded by me. Thank you for reading. XO Ghost

**XII**

 

_(March 27 2017; 10pm)_

 

 _I’m technically still married_. She felt a thousand times lighter after making her confession. But Tom stood frozen, staring at her. She knew he needed time to process, time to come to terms. She sort of guessed that he had guessed that she and Chris had gotten married after he read The Bitter Moon. There were a lot of allusions to it in the book. She prayed like she’d never prayed before that he’d let her explain, let her tell the story from beginning to end, let her open up to him, violently and all at once.

 

Tom stared at her, too stunned to say anything. The first thing that caught him across the face like a hand formed in a fist was betrayal. He felt betrayed. As he stared at this woman, who he’d only known for a few weeks but had grown to … care for … and see as someone important. He felt blindsided. From someone who so seemed to value honesty, she hadn’t been upfront with him. He knew her though. He knew her enough to let her explain. He hoped to God her explanation was a good one.

 

“I … don’t want to have this conversation here,” she said, her gaze on the floor. She was avoiding looking at him. She oozed shame.

 

Tom felt slightly better at that, though he knew it was petty, and unkind. She was holding the rings in her tiny hand, hands he had admired. He wanted to rip the damn necklace from her neck, take the rings, and cast them into a fire place. He felt slightly guilt, but also vindicated. He cycled through so many emotions in the span of a few seconds.

 

“Yes …” Tom said, much more calm than he felt.

 

“Let’s … go back to my apartment,” she said after a long pause, “We can talk there. It’s only a block away.”

 

Tom nodded without saying anything. She could see the smolder in his eyes, and it wasn’t a good one. It was angry, but more deeply than that, it was hurt. She frowned and gathered up her notebook. Tom followed her out of the pub and up the street about a block. Her flat was in an older brownstone style building that had four gorgeous arched windows at the front. She used a code to get into the main body of the building through a pair of bronze and glass doors, and held the door open for Tom. Their fingers brushed and she nearly flinched at the rage she felt. He was unbelievably angry.

 

They took an elevator up to the top floor. Her flat was at the front of the building which meant it probably had those gorgeous windows. If he wasn’t so angry, Tom would be in awe of her impeccable taste. She unlocked the door, an intentionally vintage looking door with a vintage key. She, once again, held the door open for him. He stepped inside.

 

The flat was spacious, mostly one room. The living area, dining area, and kitchen all in one big open space. There were two doors attached to the living area, both wooden with frosted glass centers. If he had to guess, he’d say bedroom and bathroom. Across the front of the flat, the arched windows stretched from floor to ceiling with two lines of brick between each window. The floor was hard wood, something so dark it was nearly black. The kitchen was a full kitchen, professional level.

 

Abby walked straight to the kitchen. She set her bag and keys on large marble island counter. The marble was black. Tom followed her and sat at a barstool at the counter. Silently, she walked to a cupboard and withdrew a bottle of wine. It was a red. She grabbed two glasses from another and set one in front of Tom. Her eyes had a question and he nodded. She poured the glass half full. Then she filled hers. After corking the wine, she swirled the wine delicately in the glass before taking a sip.

 

“Tom … I … Do you want to ask questions or do you want me to just start explaining?” she sounded so uncertain.

 

“Just … explain,” he said, taking a sip off the wine. It was a good wine. He should take note of the name and year.

 

She sat next to him, staring straight ahead, close, but not touching. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and crossed her knees. He hadn’t really paid attention to this before, but Tom noticed she tended to fold herself to fit where ever she sat. It was adorable. Then he remembered he was supposed to be angry, betrayed. Some part of him didn’t want to focus on that. Some part of him wanted to focus on the fact that he was in her flat, that hung heavy with the smell of lavender and vanilla, and she was sitting right beside him. Some part of him wanted to bury his nose in her hair, springing free from whatever kept it slicked back, and take a deep breath of her scent. Some part of him wanted to do wonderfully sultry things with her. Tom scowled at the thoughts coursing through his head. His sex focused brain wasn’t helping here.

 

He realized now, that this could be a real test. If this ended well, it would make their emotional, mental, and spiritual connection that much stronger. If it ended poorly, well, that would be that. He really wanted this to end positively. Perhaps that was his naïve hopeful inner self, wanting to make something real out of his first positive relationship connection. He didn’t really care if it was. He decided there that if it ended well, it ended well, if it didn’t, it didn’t. He wouldn’t try and fix it, he would move on.

 

“I met Chris when I was … good God … sixteen?” she whispered, her voice void of all emotion. It was a little unnerving actually, normally her voice betrayed her, swelled when she was happy, quavered when she was sad, etc. Now though, it was just … dead. “We dated through high school … the beginning of college … things started going sour … when I ran away from home. I moved in with my best friend. For reasons I can go into later, I attempted suicide. That’s when things started degrading between us, or so I thought. Really? They’d been degrading for awhile. He became more absent. He left me really. We went back and forth for awhile. Finally, he asked me to marry him. I said yes because I was young and loved him and foolishly believed he loved me.” She stopped and took a swig off her wine. “The … violence started with him throwing me out of his room. I … should have left then, but I still saw him … as the man I fell in love with.” Tom glanced sharply at her. What was she saying? Had she been abused, physically? “One day, I slapped him because I’d had enough of the names he’d been calling me. A ruthless barrage of ‘worthless’, ‘stupid’, ‘bitch’, among other choice words.” She may have sounded dead, but tears streamed down her face. Tom wanted to wrap his arms around her. “We got married, but it got worse. He had an online affair with his married friend. Deep down, I knew something was going on between them. I ignored them. I pretended it was okay. It was never okay. I was deluding myself. One day, he’d be the best. Showering me with love and praise, and the very next he’d make me out to be some worthless monster. He pretended to love me because he was lonely or bored or … something. I don’t know.” Her voice, while still void of emotion, shook. “It ended a few days after my twenty-first birthday. He beat me black and blue because I made a point about him putting no effort into our relationship. Nobody knows about that except my mom and step-dad. They had me on a greyhound back to Seattle that night.”

 

“Abby …”

 

The tears dripped onto the marble countertop and formed a small puddle, “I was in Seattle for a year. I finished The Bitter Moon. During that time, we talked about trying to work it out. I really ended it on my last birthday though. He forgot. He forgot my birthday. And then blamed me for it, acted like I was a bitch for wanting to be … important enough to be remembered. Happy fucking birthday.” Tom felt like a supreme ass. He had been feeling vindicated at her feelings of shame. He felt good about them. And while it still felt good that she felt ashamed, he realized he had no idea what she had gone through. “So I blocked him. I haven’t spoken to him since. I had my mom text him to give her information he’d need for the divorce papers and had her tell him to contact her if he needed anything else. He said he’d send the signed papers two months ago. He still hasn’t. And … I don’t want to talk to him.” She turned to face Tom. And that nearly broke him. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes, were filled with tears. He couldn’t say it was right of her not to tell him, but he understood now. He understood why she wouldn’t want to tell him. Tom’s rage at her and the betrayal he felt was redirected completely to this man. “And … and … I’m terrified that by telling you this, I’ve completely alienated you and you’ll leave … and … I …” That broke the levee completely. Tom pulled her into his arms.

 

“Abby … I’m no longer angry at you,” Tom said calmly, “I still feel … a little betrayed … but I understand now. Why. It makes sense. You did nothing wrong. You were unsure of me, you did what you could to protect yourself.”

 

The more Tom spoke, the more the feelings of betrayal seemed to ebb away. They were replaced by warmth at her for confiding in him, warmth for her strength in carrying this burden for so long, warmth at her for placing trust in him when she had been treated so wickedly by every man she had encountered in her life so far. Once again, he was in awe of her strength and beauty. He was amazed that such a creature happened to coexist at the same time as him.

 

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed against his chest, “I’m so sorry, Tom. I – I didn’t want to hurt you. I just – I’m sorry.”

 

He pressed his large hand against the back of her head, holding her tightly to his chest. It occurred to her that he smelled of clean linens and cinnamon. A delightful combination, fresh, warming. She tried to focus on that, anything but the guilt.

 

“Abby … darling … please,” he whispered, “You did nothing wrong. I understand.”

 

She sobbed against his chest. He tried to put himself in her shoes to figure out what would best help. She was scared, that was for sure. And feeling guilty. What was she scared of? Tom held her tightly as he thought, trying to sort out what he could do. What was she scared of? What was the most common denominator in all that she had told him about her scars. Every wound, every cut, the deepest ones, they all had to do with being left. Tom took her face in his hands and tilted her chin upwards so their noses brushed and their eyes met.

 

“Abigail …” he whispered, staring at her, past her, into her, “I am not leaving you. I am sticking around for a good long while hopefully. I am here.”

 

She stared at him, the disbelief on her face shot him through the heart, “Tom …”

 

“I’m staying,” he said firmly, keeping a good grip on her face.

 

Her arms wound around him. He pulled her in close. He realized that sometimes an embrace could be more intimate than sex, because in that moment he’d never felt closer to anyone or anything before. She had stripped herself bare and raw before him, placing all her hope and trust into the fact that he might not be like all the rest of them. She had born the weight of his betrayed feelings and had trusted him not leave her. He realized she had placed more faith in him the moment she told him that truth, than she probably had in anyone else in a long while. And it warmed his heart.

 

“I’m staying,” he whispered against her hair. Lavender and vanilla. The scent that had hooked him only drew him in further.

 

“Tom …” a breath shuddered out of her. He hadn’t realized how much anxiety she had had until that moment. All the tension in her body seemed to leave in one whoosh and she fell limp against him. He supported her, cradled her, and cherished this moment. He knew he should leave soon. The necessary conversation had been had. Him staying would only make the desire to sleep with her unbearable. He also didn’t want to leave her like this, so fragile. He was afraid if he left her, she’d think he was _gone_ gone.

 

“Abby … I should go home,” he whispered, “I – I want to stay, but I’m afraid … if I do … I won’t be able to behave like a gentleman.”

 

She shifted in his arms to stare up into his face, “Thank you, Tom. You – you’re so – good to me.”

 

“As you are to me, darling,” he said quietly, gently kissing her nose, her mouth.

 

She shook her head, sadly, empty, but didn’t say anything. She still felt guilty and ashamed.

 

“Goodnight, my dear,” Tom whispered into her hair, before she crawled out of his arms and back into the barstool she had been sitting in before, “I’ll call you in the morning. Alright?”

 

She hummed a reply. Tom really didn’t want to leave her like this, but he also supposed he didn’t have a choice. To take care of himself, he couldn’t stay the night, else they’d end up having sex. He knew he wasn’t ready for that, almost, but not quite. He wanted to speak to his therapist before even approaching that with Abby. Walden already knew lots about her thanks to his last session. His last image of her before leaving was her sitting at the counter, a single hand wound through her thick golden-brown curls, as she downed her glass of wine. Tom didn’t know whether he was making the right choice leaving her like this, but he really hoped he was. He really really hoped he was.

 

It didn’t take Tom long to walk home. He wanted to call her as soon as got through the door, check on her, but something held him back. He needed to think. So he did what he had done when things got complicated in his mind and heart for the last week, he pulled out The Bitter Moon. He read well past sunrise, he read until his eyes burned. He’d never taken much note of the titular poem until that night.

 

 _the bitter moon_  
_encamped over the_  
_black mountains_  
_and she poured forth_  
_her light saying unto_  
_the bleak sky_  
_I will rise_  
_I will shine_  
_I will defy_  
_every night when the_  
_darkness comes to claim me_  
_and the mountains seek_  
_to tear me down_  
_I will rise_  
_I will shine_  
_and so it goes_

 

He could imagine her reciting it, buzzed, but not drunk. Sitting, nervous, her first time on that stool. The stool she’d apparently avoided for a long while. He could see her, eyes shining with tears and determination, lost and searching for focus. Trying to find her way around her new home, new life. He could see it. He could see it. He could see her now, desperately hoping he wasn’t like every other man, as she drank herself through that delicious red wine. And he couldn’t leave her like that. And so he called her.

 

She answered almost immediately, like she’d been desperately waiting for his call.

 

“Tom,” she breathed.

 

“Shh … darling … don’t say anything,” he said softly, “Go get in bed.”

 

There was silence and slight rustling as she did as he asked. He felt a little strange ordering someone so clearly capable and independent as her around, but he knew what would be best right now. He knew it like he had known nothing before.

 

“I’m going to stay on the line, all night, or until our phones die,” he said, so gently, “I want you to know that I am here. You can rest easy. You don’t have to be strong tonight.”

 

He could hear a muffled sob. She cried herself to sleep. He could hear it, the sobs dying down into that strange shaky after tears breathing. He fell asleep eventually, taking comfort in that he was there for her. In that he was not the same as this Chris. In that he would never be the same as this Chris.


	13. Direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom speaks to Walden and comes to terms with a fear of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Longer fluffier chapter next, working on it. I just wanted to slip this conversation in there and decided it wouldn't fit with the next chapter. COMMENTS< kudos, BOOKMARKS, are all appreciated.

**XIII**

 

_(March 28 2017; 9am)_

 

Tom’s knee bounced nervously as he waited for Walden. The doctor was running a little over fifteen minutes late. He didn’t like it. He was already on edge. His mind was racing at a million miles an hour. The clock on the wall seemed to tick painfully slow. It was really the only sound to be heard in the eerily silent waiting room.

 

When the door finally creaked open, Tom jumped to his feet. Walden was as clean cut and elegant as he had been their last two meetings. They were scheduled weekly now. Tom felt relief in having someone to talk to, to sort out his emotions towards his parents, their marriage, their values, with. He felt relief as Walden helped uncover the truth of his own values, chiseling them out of Tom little by little, like a diamond out of a rock wall.

 

“Hello, Tom,” Walden said, offering his hand for their usual hand shake, “How are you today?”

 

Tom gripped his hand firmly and smiled, “I’m doing well. How about yourself?”

 

“Nothing to complain about,” Walden released his hand and gestured for Tom to make his way into the office, “Go … make yourself comfortable. Sorry about the delay. I had a video conference with another client that ran a smidge longer than I anticipated.”

 

Tom made some sort of non-committal reply like ‘no worries’ and sat on the couch. His long legs stretched out comfortably before him. His eyebrows were deeply furrowed in thought when Walden re-entered the room, two chilled bottles of water in hand.

 

“Thanks for waiting,” he said, handing Tom one of the water bottles. Tom took it even though he wasn’t very thirsty.

 

Walden settled into his arm chair and looked at Tom expectantly. The two got on exceptionally well, so Walden could tell in the set of Tom’s shoulders that he had something on his mind.

 

“She’s married …” Tom stated, his voice more devastated than he had intended for it to come out.

 

“She being Abby?” Walden asked.

 

Tom nodded, “I felt … betrayed … at first.”

 

“How do you feel now?”

 

“Like I want to kill the guy,” Tom answered honestly, “He abused her. And cheated. And demanded a divorce. She said he was supposed to send her the signed divorce papers months ago, but he hasn’t. And … she doesn’t want to speak with him.”

 

Walden nodded, “I see. And … has she changed?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“In your eyes, is she any less worthy of your affections because she’s been married and still is and isn’t sure how to get out of it?” Walden asked.

 

“I – no, she’s not,” Tom said after a moment’s hesitation.

 

“Then where’s the issue?”

 

“I guess I feel … lied to …”

 

“Did she tell you she wasn’t married?”

 

“No … but there is a such thing as lying by omission,” Tom reasoned.

 

“While that’s true, I don’t think her intention was to lie to you,” Walden leaned forward in his seat, “And I think you know that, Tom.”

 

“I – I wanted to be – I don’t know ...” Tom’s voice was quiet, “

 

“Yes,” Walden nodded, leaning back again. “What is the core of your problem here?”

 

“She still has feelings for him,” Tom whispered, eyes glue to the floor.

 

“And?” as if he knew there was more.

 

“I’m afraid if she were to … see him again … she would …” Tom choked on the tears at the thought, “She would leave me for him.”

 

There it was. Tom's real issue, spilled out, dragged out rather by merciless Walden. Tom glared at the floor. Hating his helplessness in the situation, hating that Abby still had feelings for that man, hating that man for hurting her the way he had. He was angry, and sad, and scared all at once. He didn't want to lose Abby, certainly not to the sort of worthless scum that would beat her. He wouldn't let her go, he couldn't let her go, not without one hell of a fight. Tom was a nonviolent man by nature, preferring to settle things with words rather than fists, but he would go to war for this woman. If it meant she was safe, happy,. he would raise his fists to defend her. She deserved at least that. No one had defended her, even as a child, she deserved for someone to defend her so she could take a break from defending herself. Always defending herself. To everyone, from everyone. He wanted to protect her because she had spent so long protecting herself. He wanted to protect her because he felt like she was his to protect, not in a duty/resposibility way, but in an honor way. It was his honor to let her rest from her battle, and fight for her

 

“Have you talked about it with her?” Walden asked, pulling Tom out of his thoughts. The question was more curious than driving of the conversation.

.

“I – no … I just found out she was married yesterday,” Tom said, trying to pull himself together. An excuse, he knew it.

 

“Talk to her Tom,” Walden said, “If you guys are – pardon my romantic language – meant to be, the conversation will only serve to strengthen your relationship.”

 

Tom nodded, then rubbed the back of his neck, “There’s another thing …”

 

“Sex?”

 

“How did you know?”

 

“Tom, it’s why you came in originally. It seems that you’ve got a good foundation in this relationship, but to me, the golden rule is, if you’re hesitating, you’re not ready,” Walden said firmly, “Once you can ask yourself if you’re ready, look at her, and answer without a fraction of doubt, yes, then I’d say the light is green.”

 

Tom nodded, “Thanks Walden.”

 

The doctor nodded, “Of course, Tom. You’ve made a lot of progress in the last couple weeks. You can only go up.”

 

Tom left Dr. Amhurst’s office feeling relieved, with a better sense of direction than when he’d gone in. He knew he needed to talk to Abby about what was weighing on him, and that conversation would best be had in person. He reached in his pocket and withdrew his cell phone. He had a text from her. Apologizing for not telling him sooner and asking to make him dinner at hers so they could talk some more and a thank you of sorts. Her gentle, soft, I know it’s not much, and thank you, warmed him. He was still amazed she could be so gentle given her history. He was honestly surprised she’d told him at all that she’d been and still technically was married. If he were in her position, that’s something he wouldn’t have wanted to share at all. Especially with someone he was growing to care for, romantically. He typed a quick reply and sent it off.

 

Flowers. He was going to bring her flowers. Something pretty. Something to remind her of him in that empty incredibly gorgeous flat.

 

Tom stopped at the market on his way there for them. Roses, big pink roses that smelled sweet, but not too sweet.

 

 


	14. Never Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Abby share an intimate dinner and conversation .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO this is pretty much pure fluff and I have no regrets ... It;s sweet and cute and I got to talk about food some more. SO over all, I think it's a decent follow-up. ENJOY, my dears. BOOKMARKS, COMMENTS, kudos, all deeply and dearly appreciated! And so is every reader!

**XIV**

 

_(March 28 2017; 5pm)_

 

Tom was supposed to be there any minute. She had the table set the moment he agreed to dinner. Her anal retentiveness was an inherited trait, from her mother. She was overly meticulous … most of the time, until she decided not to give a fuck. That happened more and more often now. Abby ran a hand through her hair, and sighed as she cleaned up the kitchen some. It wasn’t too messy, as she cleaned while she cooked, but there were little things here and there. It helped her nerves to clean, made her feel like she had some measure of control.

 

She’d chosen steak, seared in a good olive oil and lightly seasoned with salt and pepper. Then she had deglazed the pan with a merlot and cooked bits of sweet potatoes, carrots, onions, asparagus heads, whole garlic cloves, and whole peppercorns. Overall, it was a rich flavorful meal. Something good, both nutrition wise and flavor wise. She’d picked a fine cabernet she’d haggled down in price at the market. The only reason the man gave her the price he did was because he liked her. That never bothered her, it was useful even.

 

Her phone began to ring. Abby padded in socked feet to her bedroom. Gatsby was sitting upon her bed, staring at the picture of Tom. It was a good picture. They’d taken it at the market. He was dressed in dark jeans, a t-shirt that was both loose and tight all at once, and a pea coat. He was grinning, a sweet deliriously happy grin with that glow that people get when they first embark in a relationship. She loved that picture. It reminded her of all the things that were wholesome and good and worth being alive for. Shopping at the market on overcast days, hand-holding beneath a bar table, gentle kisses filled with care, passionate kisses filled with desire. Abby pulled herself out of her thoughts before the call rolled to voicemail, and answered.

 

“Hello?” Abby said.

 

“Hello, darling,” he said, “I’m at the bottom.”

 

“The code is 24561,” Abby replied, “Just come on up.”

 

“Sounds delightful,” Tom said, if she wasn’t mistaken she detected a hint of nervousness to his voice, and she usually wasn’t mistaken, “I’ll see you in a mo.”

 

She smiled as the call ended. She was happy that he had agreed to this. Deliriously happy. Tom had been all the good things. Patient. Kind. When he’d called her last night, she was surprised because Chris had never done anything like that, but she was so happy, so relieved. It was like a giant weight had been lifted off her bent shoulders. She could be safe for one night. She could let herself relax, be safe, know he was there for her if she needed him.

 

There was a knock at the door. Her body moved automatically. She left the bedroom door open, for Gatsby to come and go as he pleased. When she answered the door, she was greeted by … Tom. She couldn’t see his face, hidden behind a massive bouquet of dusty pink roses. He lowered them and gave her the sweetest smile.

 

“Tom …”

 

He offered her the flowers. She took them carefully, and cradling the bouquet in her arms.

 

“You shouldn’t have …”

 

“Of course, I should,” Tom said, his voice nigh on incredulous, “You deserve them.”

 

“This dinner is supposed to be about you,” she ducked her face to try and hide the blush creeping onto her pale cheeks, “As a – a thank you of sorts. For – for being there for me and not – not taking off like a sane man.”

 

“Oh, darling,” he said with a grin, pulling her closer to him and gently pressing his lips to her cheek, “We both know I’m quite mad.”

 

If possible she blushed harder, allowing herself to enjoy this, savor it. That wicked dark part of her quietly wondered when it would all go down the drain, when Tom would leave her here, wishing, hoping, he would come back only to be sucker punched by the realization that he never would. Over. And over. And over. Just like … Her hand had moved to the pair of rings at her throat. Tom was hit by the desire to throw them into a fire pit, burn away their existence.

 

“You’re thinking of him …” Tom whispered, staring at her.

 

Her head jerked up, so that they were looking each other in the eyes, “How did you know?”

 

“You clutch those rings … and you get this faded look in your lovely eyes,” he said simply. It was not accusatory or even sad, but for some reason she felt guilty.

 

Tom gently took her hand, the hand that was clutching the rings, and placed it on his chest, over his heart, “Can you feel that?”

 

She nodded, wordless.

 

“It’s for you,” Tom said, gently, his eyes shining, “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

_Tom …_   
_Oh …_   
_Tom …_

 

She looked him in the eyes. So blue, so subject to the whims of his mood, his clothes, so like the ocean. It occurred to her that she could fall, hard, harder than she ever had before. She could fall, but she clung to the edges of the cliff, with teeth, and nails, and skin.

 

“Tom …” her voice cracked, betraying the intensity of the emotions raging within her. “Come inside, Tom. I – you – you’re so … Tom …”

 

Tom chuckled, “Ah, the poet at a loss for words.”

 

She stepped out of his embrace reluctantly, opening the door wider. Another invitation. Tom walked in, taking in the apartment again. Music was playing in the background, nothing he recognized. Something soft and electropop, but nothing like EDM. He stood, a little lost, in the entry way for a moment. Whatever she had cooked smelled delightful.

 

“Go ahead and sit at the table,” she said, “Dinner will be ready in just a minute. I just need to plate it.”

 

She went into the kitchen. Tom sat at the table. There were words, other words, words he wanted her to say for his own reassurance. He knew to wait though until dinner was served. She came back with a large white plate. There was a steak and a medley of cooked vegetables. It smelled heavenly. Tom licked his lips subconsciously at the scent alone. She set it in front of him, and set the other one in the space across from him before heading back to the kitchen. When she returned, she held a bottle of wine. She poured him a glass, poured hers, and sat down.

 

“Tom – I – are you alright?” she asked. “I won’t … push. You just seem … off.”

 

He briefly wondered how she was able detect the nearly imperceptible discomfort that still clung to him because of his unsaid words, “I – Abby – I don’t know how to approach this without … unduly raising memories I’m sure you’d rather forget.”

 

She seemed to steel herself, cut into her steak, and took a bite, “Bluntly.” Her steak was rare. He took the knife beside his place setting and cut into it. Perfectly medium rare.

 

“I know … you still have feelings for your … for Chris,” he’d be damned before he referred to Chris as Abby’s husband, “I’m … afraid … that if he were to show up here and say all the right things, you would … you would … leave. Me.”

 

Abby paused eating, “Tom … I … that’s not going to happen.”

 

God, the food was delicious. The steak perfectly cooked, warm, juicy, tender, robust. The vegetables well seasoned and flavorful, cooked not so much to be soggy, but enough to be soft. She was a phenomenal cook. The food was distracting honestly. He welcomed it.

 

“Tom … you are so much better than him, not just for me, but as a person,” she said softly, “You … I would be an absolute idiot if I did that. And I’m no idiot.”

 

She stared at him, with fire, with care, with tenderness.

 

Tom smiled, “Thank you. For saying that. For placing your trust in me. For … everything.”

 

“You don’t need to thank me,” she said quietly, meeting his eyes, “Tom … the … what I feel for you … it’s not just something I could walk away from. Even if the feelings, the warmth and the butterflies, even if that wasn’t there anymore … even if things got hard between us … for some reason … I wouldn’t … couldn’t … just walk away.”

 

That was what set Tom at ease. Something settled in his heart then, something warm and solid. Something that he’d never felt before. He wanted to reach for her, hold her, cradle her, keep her. Not even lustfully, just because he could, really. He wanted to feel the warmth of her being pressed against his, knowing that she was there, she was real, this was real. There would be time for that after dinner.

 

“Thank you,” Tom whispered.

 

“No need, just being honest,” she said.

 

Tom was over the moon about the steak. Completely at ease now, he showered her with compliments of her cooking, her eyes, her sweet smile. When they were finished, he helped her clear the table, and wash the dishes. They worked together seamlessly. Him, arm deep in suds, only after insisting that since she had cooked he could do the bulk of the cleaning. Though when he’d tried to put soap in her large cast iron skillet she’d nearly had a heart attack and had insisted on washing that one herself.

 

“Soap ruins the seasoning,” she said with wide eyes that meant he would not be winning this one, “I’ll wash it. They’re a pain in the ass to season.”

 

Tom had just laughed and let her do it. Once the kitchen and dining table were clean, Tom drew her into the living room. There he danced with her, for hours, they danced, close together. His arms wrapped around her waist. Swaying is really a better word. Staring into each other. Abby memorizing the slope of his nose and the particular shade his eyes were at the moment. Tom, enthralled by the pink hue of her pale cheeks, the glint of her pearly teeth against her pretty little mouth.

 

“I’ve never fallen from quite this high,” she mumbled against him.

 

“Neither have I,” Tom whispered, against her hair, breathing in her smell.

 

“Tom …” she paused moving, and looked him in the eyes. He held her.

 

“I think it’s time I stop wearing these,” she said softly, gently touching the rings on her necklace, not gently, gingerly.

 

“Abby … you don’t …”

 

“I’m going to,” she said firmly, then she spun in his arms, wordlessly asking for his help in removing them.

 

Tom unclasped the necklace, his fingers brushing her neck, sending both their hearts skittering. She took the chain, pulled the two rings off, and Tom re-fastened the necklace, silently. She disappeared into her bedroom. Tom wanted to follow, but figured he should give her a moment. When she came back, he realized that the sight of those rings at her neck had caused him more grief than he wanted to admit. She slipped back into his arms and rested her head against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his torso.

 

That was the moment that Tom fell in love.

 

 

 


	15. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and angst. Abby has some darkness and Tom comes to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is bound to have some angst, and frank conversation. Lots of love. Comments, kudos, bookmarks and all that jazz are appreciated. XO Ghost

**XV**

 

_(March 30 2017; 1am)_

 

  
_She was standing in the middle of a clearing in a wood. She recognized this place. The still drain water pond, the clusters of wild flowers, the mix of birch and evergreen trees flanking the ovular hollow. There was a dirt path to the far right. There he was, laying in a particularly beautiful patch of wild flowers, his arms crossed under his head. He was in that old t-shirt, the one with the StarWars logo, and jeans. She would have known that face anywhere. Those brown eyes that somehow managed to look like the ocean on a stormy day. That soft caramel skin. She walked closer, apprehensively. He laid there, staring at the ceaseless blue sky. Tears were leaking from his eyes, streaming down the sides of his face. The aching shattered part of her heart wanted to crawl down beside him and comfort him. She didn’t know why he was crying, he rarely did, and she wanted to stop it. She wanted to cover her body with hers and protect him from whatever was going on inside. She wanted to gently used her mouth and kiss the tears from his face. She wanted to cover his mouth with hers and show him that she still cared, too much, far too much. Abby collapsed to her knees beside him. He drew her into his embrace. He breathed her in and she let him. This was a reminder of better times, times when it was them against the world, times when he loved her, times when he held her when she ached, times that were long gone._

_“Abigail …” he murmured against her ear, his voice distorted, echoing, dreamy, “I never loved you. I never have. I never will. You’re so so stupid for falling into my trap again.”_

_The horror manifested on her face as her heart stopped. She gasped, trying anything to get her lungs to move of their own accord, to breathe. To do anything but silently scream. Of course. Of course. Of course. Why had she been so stupid … to think … Tom … not Tom … she couldn’t hurt Tom …._

 

Abby sat bolt upright, tears streaming down her face. She scrambled out of bed, throwing off the hot sticky blankets, and ran to the bathroom. Gatsby followed, closely, but knowing to stay back enough so as not to get under foot. She bent over the toilet and retched, the acrid tang of bile burning her throat and mouth. Gatsby brushed against her heals and lower legs. He knew. He knew nights like this. He could sense it well before she woke up, he could smell it in her sweat.

 

“Good boy,” she tried to coo, but ended up choking on the words as her body convulsed again, trying to empty itself of the dream she’d awoken from.

 

At least, that’s what she liked to think. She liked to imagine every time this happened that she was emptying a little more of him out of her system. That dream though, was a new one. And crueler than most. Often times, the nightmares she awoke from were usually just memories. Tonight, tonight she had dreamed something worse. There were times that if she could lobotomize her own imagination, she would. Tonight was one of those nights. Nights where darkness crept in through the holes in her heart and held her hostage under the weight of sleep.

 

Gatsby purred as she dropped to the floor. The cat clambered ungracefully into her lap. He knew. He always knew. He put his two front paws on her clavicle to boost himself up and began licking her face. She gently stroked his back, trying to calm herself.

 

“You’re such a good boy,” she murmured, only making him purr that much more.

 

Carefully, she picked up the cat and took him back to the bedroom. He continued purring and licking her face as they walked through the main area of the apartment. Moonlight flooded in through the arched windows, casting an eerie silver glow on the white couch and the dark floor. She changed direction and sat on the couch, holding Gatsby to her chest, staring out the windows. She loved those windows.

 

“You know … sometimes I wonder if I am bound to attract all the wrong people,” she whispered, “They all seem to leave. Or use me. There’s not much left to use anymore. I feel so … empty. Except Tom … he is … I don’t even know.”

 

She paused and breathed in. For some reason, the air conditioning had kicked on. The apartment grew colder by the second, the air clearer. Normally, she hated being cold, but right now the cool air, gliding across her goosefleshed skin, helped to clear her head. She considered calling Tom, but ultimately decided that she didn’t want to bother him. She didn’t want to be a nuisance, bringing in all sorts of problems from a deteriorated relationship that really shouldn’t have to affect him.

 

 _Go to bed …_ She told herself, but her body wouldn’t move. Instead, she settled more deeply into the couch. Gatsby, as if he knew she wasn’t in a good place, simply settled against her, prepared to purr and lick and comfort her.

 

She sat like that, staring out the window until light started to pour through the windows. Orange and gold, coming up over the London skyline. The light reached into her and helped abate the darkness that still lingered in the corners of her heart. She didn’t move, she barely breathed. If someone were to come in and see her, they’d swear they were seeing a sort of spirit or apparition. Her silken night dress, pale skin, stillness.

 

She finally moved when the sun was high enough into the sky for it to be the late am. She moved across the floors noiselessly, and sat on her bed. Checking her phone she saw she had a couple missed calls from Tom and more than a few from a blocked number. Her heart lurched. There was only one number she had blocked.

 

 _Why_? She thought. _Why now_?

 

She deleted the record of them from her call log, though she knew they would heavily on the back of her mind. Then she called Tom. He answered immediately.

 

“Hello darling,” he said, “You didn’t answer my calls. Everything alright?”

 

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she admitted, hesitating for split second, “Nightmare. Anxiety. All that good shit.”

 

“Why didn’t you call?” he asked.

 

 _Yes. Why didn't she call?_ Tom would have welcomed the call. He would have happily stayed up with her into the morning, sitting in silence, comforting in only the knowledge she wasn’t alone. She didn’t call though. She bore it alone, like she was so accustomed.

 

“I – I didn’t want to bother you,” she admitted.

 

“Darling, you’re never a bother,” he said softly, “Would you like some coffee? Or a pastry from that little French place you like? Or –“ He faltered, “Or do you need some space?”

 

She smiled despite herself, “Pastry and coffee sounds delightful. I actually could use the company. And to be held.”

 

She opened up to him more there, than she had originally intended. Where her mind said, send him away, her heart said, bring him closer. She nearly huffed in frustration, but remembered she was on the phone. Tom had this way of drawing her out of her mind, which more often the not, was not a good place for her to be.

 

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” he said, gently, “Abby, I’m not going anywhere.” He paused. There was definitely more that he wanted to say, but whatever it was, he didn’t. He said goodbye.

 

True to his word, Tom was there in fifteen. He had a bag with two almond croissants and another with four macarons, each a different flavor. He also had two cups of coffee from the book shop. She smiled at him, but her smile was weary. He pulled her into his arm, and so quickly, she felt better, safer. He was a better place.

 

The rest of the day was spent together, reading quietly together. Tom had brought a script he was considering. She was re-reading a personal favorite of hers, A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J Maas. She lay nestled comfortably in Tom’s lap, head resting against him. Gatsby, not sure about the newcomer, made himself scarce in her bedroom.

 

Abby, at some point, got up and put on some music, quietly in the background. She picked her vinyl of The 1975. Then she lay back with Tom. He didn’t speak much, seeming content to just be there, and hold her, stroking her hair. At some point, she fell asleep, her head pressed against his heartbeat, her fingers threaded into his t-shirt. Tom couldn’t help but put down his script and just watch. Her deep even breaths, her long lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks. She truly was an exquisite woman. Not just physically, he had learned. In everything. He realized there, that he could have a lifetime of this. Of her. And that made him happier than he had ever felt.

 

She was trying so hard to trust him, to let him in. The fact that she had invited him over instead of asking for space like he knew she really wanted was a testament to that. Tom gently kissed her cheek.

 

When she woke, blinking sleepily up at him, her eyes seemed clearer, brighter. She smiled softly, but with such an intense warmth. She had the kind of smile that made men trip over themselves to get her to do it again. Tom kissed her nose gently.

 

“Thank you for coming over Tom,” she said, her voice still heavy with sleep, “I – I really needed that.”

 

“Of course, love,” he replied, “Do you want to order pizza for dinner? We could watch a film.”

 

“Mm … that sounds delightful,” she hummed against him, “I’ve got a cupboard of movies in my bedroom. I don’t know about you, but Tarantino sounds nice.”

 

It occurred to Tom that he had never been in her bedroom. It felt like a huge place of trust to allow him in there, even though it wasn’t sexual at all.

 

“Tarantino sounds great, actually,” Tom said, “Do you want me to get it and order the pizza?”

 

She gave him an adorable pouty face, “If you would be so kind, sir.”

 

Tom smiled and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He extricated himself from her. It wasn’t far to the bedroom. It was dark in there. The bed pressed against the wall across from the door was frameless and laden with a ridiculous amount of blankets. To the left was a big arched window, but it was curtained off by heavy velvet drapes. Tom searched for a light switch, there was one right next to the door. He flipped it on, illuminating the room with a large chandelier that hung above the bed. There were several cupboards, a couple under the bed, but Tom guessed those were for clothes. To the right of the bed, there was a tall cupboard. He opened it. It was filled with films and CDs. He sorted through them until he found True Romance. That would be a good one. He closed the cupboard.

 

On his way out, he noticed her leather-bound notebook sitting on the bed stand along with some fancy pens, a bottle of water, and a medication bottle. He almost went to the leather-bound and opened it. Almost. His curiosity was beating the hell out of him, but he didn’t. He felt like that would be a gross invasion of privacy, somehow grosser than seeing what was in the medication bottle.

 

Tom left the room before he could do anything stupid. She smiled at him as he walked out. He held up the DVD case to show his choice.

 

“Yes, one of my favorite movies of all time,” she said.

 

Tom ordered pizza and that was how they spent the evening. Throughout it though, Tom couldn’t shake the feeling of Abby withholding something from him. He saw it, in the anxious jumpy way she eyed her phone. Like it might bite. He didn’t press though. She needed a break. He was happy to oblige.

 


	16. Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby receives some good news and has thoughts about her and Tom that ultimately lead to a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will contain smut. If you're not about that, but you do want the super fluff prequel, THE SECOND HALF of the chapter will be smutty, first half fluff and romance. There will be a divider of some sort where it branches off. It may be a phrase, or I may make it clear in conversation that that's where it's headed and you guys can pick your own points to head out. Anyways, Lots of love. COMMENTS, KUDOS, BOOKMARKS, are all super duper appreciated and loved as is every single reader!!!! XO Ghosty

**XVI**

 

  
_(April 1 2017; 10am)_

 

He had called again. Three times, in fact. Each one, her phone auto rejected. She wished that her phone wouldn’t even notify her of the calls. She wished she didn’t know because, honestly, the weight on her mind was excruciating. The urge to call him back was there, even though every molecule of her screamed not to. She still felt the urge. Demand to know what he wanted. Part of her wondered if he was hurt or something. She ruled that out though. He wasn’t the type to get sentimental from a little pain. He wasn’t the sentimental type at all. Unlike Tom.

 

Abby was sitting in the living room, curled up on the couch, trying not think about the calls or him. A large mug of still steaming hot breakfast tea was siting on the coffee table next to her. From what she’d heard from Tom, he’d be busy all morning. With what, he wasn’t specific. When her phone rang, it surprised her. She hadn’t been expecting to hear from Tom until evening. It wasn’t Tom. In fact, it was her agent.

 

“Hello?” she answered.

 

“Abby?” her voice was excited.

 

“Caroline,” she said happily, “How are you?”

 

“Good. Good,” she chirped, “How has London been treating you?”

 

“Great! I’ve had lots of time to think and have been writing a lot,” she said, brushing her fingers through her hair. Ever since she had stopped wearing those rings, that had become her nervous habit.

 

“That’s great,” she said, “But I’ve got some really good news! Ready?”

 

“Go ahead,” Abby said, with a light chuckle. Caroline was always so optimistic. It was one of the reasons they worked so well together, the pessimist – or realist, depending on who you asked – and the optimist.

 

“The Bitter Moon has been holding steady as Number one New York Times Bestseller for the last two weeks,” she said, almost breathless.

 

Abby froze, “What? Are you … serious? I didn’t even know it was on the list.”

 

“Yeah, but you guys never pay attention to that sort of thing,” she said brightly, “That’s our job! Anyways, I talked to your publicist and they were thinking it would be good to fly you in to New York and get a book signing done at Barnes and Noble in Manhattan, along with Lang Leav and Rupi Kaur. We were thinking it would be ‘Inspirational Women’ themed.”

 

“Wow … really?” she asked, a little shell-shocked. She had admired both Lang Leav and Rupi Kaur for the longest time. They were both heroes of hers. Meeting them both, doing a signing with them, being one of them. It would be downright legendary to her. She could barely breathe she was so excited.

 

“Yes,” she said, “We were thinking of flying you out in two weeks, putting you all up in the same hotel for a week, then flying you back home. We might also schedule a conference of sorts, where you can speak to fans. That would strictly be for you though.”

 

“Wow … uh, okay,” she said softly, “Wow.”

 

“I know it’s a lot, dear,” she said, “But we’ve got to keep the momentum rolling.”

 

Abby nodded, before realizing the woman couldn’t see her, “Uh, yeah. I get it. Just a little … mind blown … right now.”

 

“I get it, sweetheart. You’re very private,” she said, “Not quite as private as Sin, but close. I’ll let you go, give you some time to adjust, think everything through, and we’ll touch base through email in a day or so. Yeah?”

 

“Sounds good, Caroline,” Abby said softly, “Thank you. So much.”

 

“Of course, dear,” she said, then almost as an after thought, “Just remember … you deserve this.”

 

“Thanks Care,” Abby murmured.

 

The click signaled the end of the call. For a good hour, Abby sat still staring out the window. Number one New York Times Best Seller. Holy fucking shit. She was not prepared for this. She had not expected this. Because of the date, she half expected Caroline to call back within a few minutes and explain the prank. She never did. In fact, within the hour she sat there, she received an email from Caroline with a loose schedule of the week she would spend in Manhattan.

 

There was also a proposal for a special Barnes and Noble Hard Cover edition of The Bitter Moon. It would include six poems that were cut from the original manuscript, and they’d all be signed. She sent Caroline a quick reply, giving her consent for the special edition and confirming her reception of the schedule.

 

She needed to call Tom. This was possibly one of the biggest things that could ever happen in her career. She had, against all odds, made a name for herself. When she decided not to go to college, everyone had told her she would amount to nothing, she wouldn’t be able to do anything with her life. Here she was though, living in a gorgeous apartment, writing, and she had made a name for herself. A good one. The thrill sent a shiver down her spine. Against all odds, on her own, she had done this. She was in a loving strong relationship with a good man. If this is what she could do at her lowest, what could she do after raising herself up. She dialed Tom’s number without thinking. He answered in a ring.

 

“Give me a moment Luke, it’s Abby,” she heard mumbled through the line, then spoken to her, “Hey darling, did you need something?”

 

“I know you’re busy, I just really wanted you to be the first to know …” Abby was breathless with excitement and that alone made Tom’s heart fill with joy, “I just found out that The Bitter Moon has been holding steady as number one New York Times bestseller for the last two weeks.”

 

“What?” Tom’s voice was pure happiness, “Darling, that’s excellent! Are you celebrating in any way?”

 

“Well, Andrews wants to fly me out to New York in two weeks for a week and do a book signing and conference,” she rushed on, “They also want to release a special hard cover edition to Barnes and Noble.”

 

“Darling! That’s amazing!” Tom said, elated for her, for all she had accomplished, “Let’s celebrate tonight. Dinner on me. There’s a nice Italian place, not far from mine. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

 

“That sounds amazing,” she said, “I’ll let you get back to work. Thank you for taking my call, even though you were working.”

 

“Anytime, my love,” he said, “I do have to get back to it though. I’ll ring you as soon as we’re through.”

 

“Alright, talk to you soon,” she said happily.

 

This time, she ended the call. God, what had she done to deserve this. Everything felt right, like her life had finally fallen into place. Like she’d finally gathered all the darkness, tossed it out, and was able to be happy, and live life, treating it as such.

 

The only bump would be those calls. She just had to be strong. Abby took a deep breath. In and out. She could be strong. She was used to it. After all, she had grown up being made of steel. For Tom though, for him alone, she would soft.

 

The realization hit her hard, like a slap to the face. She had and could be soft for him. He hadn’t used her softness against her, he never would, it probably hadn’t even occurred to him. Tom was good. Tom was there. He made her happy, elated even. She wouldn’t call Chris back. The urge was gone, just like that. Diminished until it wasn’t even there. She loved Tom, not Chris. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him.


	17. She Will Be Loved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Abby celebrate with dinner and then head back to her apartment ... together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKay. LAst half of the chapter is smutty. First half is sweet fluff. I think it's pretty clear when it starts to branch out, so if you wish to read the fluff, but skip the smutt, there you go. Now, tbh, it's been FOREVER since I've written smut. So ... like ... this could be not great! But I hope you guys like it! COMMENTS, KUDOS, BOOKMARKS, are all deeply appreciated and so is EVERY reader.

**XVII**

  
_(April 1 2017; 7p)_

 

  
Tom was exactly on time, there at seven pm sharp. He was dressed in a pair of slacks that fit him well, a white button down, and a charcoal suit jacket. He knocked on the door of the apartment, whistling and grinning as he did so. He didn’t know why he was so ecstatic, but he was elated. When Abby answered, his breath froze in his chest for a split second as he took her in. He’d never seen her wear a dress before, but there she was. A vintage red satin cocktail dress, with a sweetheart bust and full skirt. His glazed over her clavicle where those two rings were still noticeably absent and his heart hammered against his chest. She was prim and elegant, and not trying to be sexy, but she was.

 

“Good evening, darling,” he said with a low whistle, “You look absolutely stunning.”

 

She blushed under his compliment. The little bit of make-up she had done, merely accentuated the features Tom already adored. A deep red lipstick made her small mouth pop, a little bit of gold eyeshadow brought out the flecks of amber in her eyes, her long lashes didn’t need the mascara, but it made her already large eyes, nigh on doll-like. Her hair was down and curly, the way Tom liked it best.

 

“Good evening, Tom,” she said, with a barely contained grin, “You don’t look so shabby yourself.”

 

She took in his lank lean figure. Her fingers, seemingly of their own accord, traced his jawline, which was covered in a nice layer of stubble. Her gentle touch sent a thrill through him, a chill down his spine. Their eyes locked and Tom couldn’t help but lean forward and press his lips to hers. The air seemed to disappear until there was nothing left but the taste of her, the taste of him, melding together. Tom broke the kiss reluctantly.

 

“We have reservation for 7:30,” he said, just a little bit breathless, “We should go.”

 

Her eyes were dark, distracted, “We should.”

 

Tom offered her his arm. She threaded hers through his and they made their way to the bottom of the building, and outside. The night was crisp and clear, a gentle breeze blew in steadily from the south. Abby shivered gently against Tom. He wrapped his larger frame around her smaller one. He always ran warm. A fact Abby deeply appreciated. She hated to be cold.

 

Waiting on the street in front of her apartment building was a small black limousine. Abby shot Tom a look out of the corner of her eye. She hadn’t been expecting that. Him driving, yes. A nice car, yes. Not a limousine.

 

“What’s this?” she asked.

 

“Nothing but the best for you tonight, darling,” he murmured into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

 

There was no question. The air between them tonight was charged, full of tension, but not necessarily the bad kind. Tom helped her into the limo, before going around to his side and slipping in. He scooted in close to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Abby leaned into him.

 

“How was your day, Tom?” she asked.

 

“Excellent, but I’d rather discuss that over dinner,” he said with a grin, “Luke and I may have formulated a plan together. But before I regale you with that, I’d just like to admire your beauty.”

 

She blushed, “Tom …”

 

“What? I happen to think you are incredibly gorgeous, darling,” he said confidently, “I have since the day we met. That was part of my problem though. I only appreciated your physical beauty, instead of everything you are.”

 

Her blush deepened, “You’re too good for me.”

 

“No …” Tom whispered, taking her hand in his, “We’re just perfect.”

 

The limo stopped outside a little Italian place called Giuseppe’s. Tom helped her out of the limo and offered her his arm again. She threaded hers though his and they went inside the little restaurant. It was a quaint little place, with small intimate booths and tables, each lit by its own candle. Violin music played quietly in the background. Tom walked straight to the hostess, who smiled brightly at them.

 

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston,” she said, obviously familiar with him, “We have a special private table prepared just for you. Right this way.”

 

Abby cast Tom a wary glance. She wasn’t used to all the fanfare. She’d grown up very poor and was always surprised by what exactly money could do. She especially wasn’t used to all the fanfare being in her honor. People typically ignored her accomplishments, or didn’t notice until it was too late. Not Tom, Tom was all too happy to put her up on a pedestal for doing something worth celebrating and worship her for it. If she were being honest, she thought he’d look for any old excuse to do that.

 

The hostess showed them to the very back of the restaurant where a room had been curtained off with a velvet red curtain. A small intimate table, set with a white table cloth, a candle, and a single blooming red rose was behind the curtain. Tom walked Abby to her seat and pulled it out for him. She gave him a semi awed look. Even these little things, were new to her. Chris never did anything like that. At least he hadn’t for the longest time.

 

“Thank you, Ellie,” Tom said, sitting in his own seat.

 

She handed them two menus. Abby set hers to the side and just watched Tom for a moment, the way his eyes roved across the menu, the way they lit up when a particular dish sounded good to him. She stared at him. She stared at him, and loved him.

 

“Abby?”

 

His voice pulled her out of her thoughts, “You’re staring, darling.”

 

“Sorry … I just … I was thinking,” she stammered out. He hadn’t seen her this flustered in a long while. It occurred to Tom that her thoughts may well be stammer worthy, especially with the tension that hung heavy between them tonight.

 

Tom smiled, almost wickedly, “About?” He couldn’t help himself.

 

She blushed, “I – I love you.”

 

Tom froze. Did he hear her correctly? Was he hallucinating? He stared at her, her gaze tipped towards the table, her cheeks ablaze. Tom didn’t think he’d misheard. He thought he was very much correct. He stared at her, wanting to take her forever, make her his. Tom’s heart thundered against his ribcage. Nothing could compare to this moment, right here. Tom reached for her hand.

 

“Abby, my dear, look at me, I beg you,” Tom said softly. Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet his. He could tell she was trying not to cry. She was terrified. “Abigail, you are so precious to me. So infinitely precious. I love you. I think I’ve loved you since the night you called me to check on me and make sure I was alright.”

 

“Tom …”

 

“I won’t be going anywhere … not without you, my Abby,” his voice was every shade of gentle and sweet, “Let’s say you and I pick out what we want to eat, and then I share with you my proposition.”

 

She nodded. Abby settled on shrimp scampi and Tom on chicken alfredo. Tom also picked out bruschetta to share and an expensive bottle of rosé champagne. When the hostess took their menus, Abby and Tom couldn’t stop staring at each other, with that wide eyed doe expressions new lovers get. Like they just couldn’t believe their luck.

 

“So …” Tom said, “Here is my proposition. I go with you to New York. We spend some time together there. Then both of us continue to LA, where we stay for two weeks so I can audition for a couple roles.”

 

“We’d be really close to Seattle,” Abby said absently, almost as an afterthought, “We could stop in and see my family before coming back to London.”

 

Tom seemed pleasantly surprised by the idea, “I’d like that … there is one thing for you to consider though, my love.”

 

She hummed thoughtfully, too distracted by the words my love, “Yes?”

 

“There’s a very good chance the paps will catch us out and about in New York or LA,” Tom said, “If you’re not ready for that, and I understand if you aren’t, we can do this separately. It would just mean not seeing each other for a bit.”

 

“I –“ she hesitated for just a second, but she got that steely determined look in her eyes that usually meant she was stepping out of her comfort zone, “No, if they find out. They find out. We’re together now. If they don’t, then I get to enjoy peaceful mornings out with you a bit longer.”

 

Tom smiled at her, his whole being warmed with care and appreciation, “Thank you.”

 

“For?”

 

“Taking the less than pleasant side effects of being with me in a stride,” he replied, stroking the top of her hand. Their eyes caught. Tom could feel it. The tension, it was thick enough you could cut it with a knife. He wanted her.

 

Tom asked himself a simple question. Is this real or is this lust? He knew without a fraction of a doubt that it was real. The shine to those green green eyes, the glint of her teeth against her red lips in candle light, the blush on her cheeks. The warmth in his heart, the fierce protectiveness he felt for her. He wasn’t afraid anymore. He wasn’t sure if that had more to do with him or her, but he wasn’t afraid anymore. He welcomed their future together with open arms. He wanted to know everything about her, the good, the bad, the ugly. He wanted to be there for her when she was weary and tired of defending herself. When it got to much, he would take up the mantle and protect her.

 

When their food arrived, they ate slowly, sipped champagne, and discussed things they should do in New York together. The food was excellent, perfectly prepared, flavorful. Both stopped drinking though, after their second flute of champagne as if on some instinctive level, they knew they didn’t really want to be intoxicated on this night. Abby licked her lips, and Tom watched. Tom stroked his chin, and chuckled, low and reverberative, and Abby watched, and Abby listened. When their food was gone, they got a slice of Tiramisu to share. They took turns feeding each other fork-fulls of the soft indulgent cake.

 

“Thank you, Tom,” she said softly, “For taking m out tonight. For … celebrating with me.”

 

“You deserve it,” Tom said, as if that were all the explanation needed. And to him, it was. She deserved it for being strong in the darkness. For letting her light shine into him, through him, and making him the man he was becoming.

 

When the desert was finished, Tom paid the bill. Ignoring an insistent Abby, when she offered to pay a portion of it. Tom wouldn’t hear of it. On that, he wasn’t budging. Tom liked to spoil her, and she let him do it so very little. He was going to take this opportunity and utilize it. They left the place arm in arm together, like they’d come in. Once they were outside, with cool crisp night air, Tom pulled Abby into his arms. He wanted to be honest, and bold, and open. He pressed his forehead against hers, and looked her in the eyes.

 

“Abby … I want to make you mine tonight,” Tom whispered, his voice throaty, thick, full of desire, need, want, “If you’re not ready, I will wait.”

 

She looked him in the eyes and he could see the same desires reflected in hers, “Take me home, Tom.”

 

And that was that. The two climbed into the limousine. The drive seemed twice as long going back as it had on the way there. Abby nervously, tapping her foot. Tom, holding her, one arm over her shoulders. He buried his face in her hair and took a deep breath, for the first time, really allowing himself to take in the rich vanilla and light lavender for the first time. It was a dizzying heady combination. So delicate, so rich at the same time.

 

When they arrived outside her building, it took everything in Tom not to just scoop her up and carry her up the final flights of stares into that flat of hers. Instead, Tom offered her his arm once more, which she accepted. They walked to the building. Tom watched her deft fingers, input the code. He pushed the door open and held it for her. She walked inside. Tom swept her into his arms and melded his mouth to hers, using his tongue to gently sweep along her lower lip, graze her teeth, until dancing with her tongue in a heated passion.

 

“Tom,” she gasped, her voice sending chills down his spine, “Up … stairs.”

 

Tom nodded, but placed several butterfly kisses along the veins and curves of her neck before taking her hand and leading her up the stairs. When they reached her apartment, she fished the key out of a hidden pocket in her dress. Her hands trembled slightly as she unlocked the door. She fumbled with the key, but when she finally got it into the lock and twisted, she quickly pushed the door open. Tom followed her into the darkened space, the lights were off. He shut the door behind them.

 

Tom didn’t know what to expect. It wasn’t Abby, using the tips of her fingers to trace his jaw, down his neck and slip his jacket from his shoulders. It wasn’t for her to press herself flush against him, kissing down the length of his jaw, and using her delicate little hands to guide his to the zipper on the back of her dress. His fingers reached for the zipper, and excruciatingly slowly, slid it down. His hands pushed the straps of the dress from her shoulders until it tumbled to the floor in a puddle of crimson satin, he could barely see.

 

He could see her though. Her pale skin, those delicious curves that had hooked him in. Those curls, wild like her green eyes. Tom was suddenly nervous. He hadn’t done this in a while. What if something didn’t go right? What if she didn’t like it? What if she … Tom shook his head to clear it. Everything would be fine. If it, per chance, didn’t go well this time around, he’d have years to perfect it.

 

He leaned in, and wrapping a hand in her golden brown curls, kissed her fiercely. His tongue danced with hers. When he broke the kiss, he continued down her cheek, nibbling, and sucking, and leaving his mark on her neck. Abby fell against him, becoming subject to his touch, his taste, everything. She unhurriedly unbuttoned his white shirt, taking her time, staring into his eyes. When she pushed it off his body, he grabbed her and pulled her in. Holding her against him. She was just in her underthings. The feel of skin on skin was electrifying.

 

“Tom …” she whispered, her voice breathless, “Bedroom.”

 

Tom did pick her up, her legs wound around his taunt hips, and carried her into the bedroom. He carefully placed her on the bed, being as gentle and careful as if he were handling fine crystal. He stripped himself of his belt and pants, letting them fall to the floor. He stared at her, the moon turning her skin to fine white silk. His hands started at her shoulders, but slowly made their way down her body, caressing every inch of her. He wanted to worship her. His hands went to her bra.

 

“May I?”

 

She nodded. He unclasped her bra and tossed it off to the side. His eyes and hands went immediately to those full perfect breasts, peaked by rosy nipples. He took them in his hands, squeezing the supple flesh, pinching and pulling those rosy little buds. Her soft sighs and gentle moans began to fill the room. Tom’s flesh hardened further at the noises, noises he elicited from her with his hands. Slowly, tantalizingly, he dragged his fingertips from her breasts to the waistband of those pretty panties. He gave her a questioning look and she simply nodded. He hooked a finger in the waistband of her panties and tossed them off to the side. Immediately, Tom knelt and threw one of her legs over his shoulder. This. He’d been waiting for this. He placed gentle butterfly kisses at the apex of her thighs. She squirmed against his touch and sighed in delight. When his darted out to taste her, just a taste, her hips bucked against his face. The stubble on his chin creating this glorious friction. She moaned, soft, and long, and low. His tongue flashed out and parted her lower lips, enjoying the musk, the sweetness. She moaned again. His name this time. It sent a chill down his spine. He loved that. He wanted that. He wanted to hear it over and over.

 

“Do that again,” he whispered against her dripping womanhood. The hot air in combination with his mouth and stubble rubbing against her, had her moaning his name again all by itself.

 

“Tom …” long, drawn out, ecstatic.

 

His tongue traced circles around the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs until she was a panting, wet, moaning mess. Until the only thing she could think of was his flesh on hers, filling her. Tom was patient though. He used the tip of his finger and circled her entrance. She moaned his name and bucked against his hand. He slipped two fingers inside her and curled them, reaching places, caressing places, she hadn’t even thought of before. Her orgasm crashed down on her quickly, her body shuddering and tightening around his fingers.

 

“That’s it,” Tom murmured as she moaned loudly, “That’s my girl. My Abby.”

 

He stood up and scooted her farther up the bed, before slipping between her legs. He fit like he’d been made for the space between her thighs. When Tom gently pushed inside her, she gasped, and clawed at his back, searching for anything to hold onto. He was bigger than Chris had been, far so. And Chris was the only thing she had for comparison, and so far, their experiences together paled compared to her and Tom’s. Tom didn’t move for a few moments after adjusting himself inside her. He wanted to relish this moment, the slick heat, the passion, the love her felt for this woman. This one woman he would go to his grave to protect.

 

He finally moved, a soft gentle thrust when she looked him in the eyes, glowing in the moonlight, and whispered, “I love you, Thomas.”

 

He could have died right there. Instead, he pushed farther into her and rocked his hips back and forth, slowly. Tantalizingly. Teasingly. Tom knew what he was doing and just how to do it. Every thrust brought her closer and closer to her second orgasm. She wanted this. She wanted him. Tom needed her. She was everything he needed. His thrusts became erratic, like he was losing control.

 

“Tom … I’m so very close,” she whispered, her breath hot against his neck.

 

He pinned her hands above her head, and stared into her eyes, “I am too, darling.”

 

Every word was purred, and it was her undoing. She broke against him on the bed, contracting around him, moaning his name. He pulled out and spilled himself on her belly. Trying to be as careful as possible. There wasn’t a lot of room for careful though and if Tom were to be really honest with himself, he didn’t care that much either.

 

Afterwards, Tom got a damp washcloth and cleaned her up. Then, he pulled her into the curve of him and cradled her there. Sometime, in the midst of the night they both woke and made love again. Slowly, sweetly, from behind, filled with whispered sweet nothings and Tom’s breath on her neck.

 

And when they fell asleep, neither had felt so safe and comfortable in a very long long time.

 

 


	18. Worm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Tom and Abby's night together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaacccckkkk. Sorry. I had a really rough time writing this chapter. It was just ... stuck. Finally finished it. Not completely satisfied with it, but whatever. COMMENTS, KUDOS, BOOKMARKS are all deeply appreciated and so are all you readers!

**XVIII**

 

_(April 2 2017; 8am)_

 

Tom was awoken by a slash of bright autumn sunlight that slashed through a crack in the heavy velvet drapery. He blinked the sunlight out of his eyes, and turned his head. She was asleep still. In his arms. Every inch of her pressed against him. He’d never felt this way. The urge to protect her, support her, care for her. Of course, with his other partners, he’d felt the possession. That was his primal instinct, his baser urges, this was something more, this was something far stronger.

 

Her hair was so soft. He buried his nose in it, breathed in the smell of her. His arm had gone numb beneath her, wrapped around her. He didn’t mind though. He enjoyed watching her sleep. Years of worry, anxiety, and trauma were erased and replaced with a sweet innocence. He wished he could keep her like that forever. Unmarred, unwounded. Not that he minded her scars. In fact, every one she revealed to him he wanted to kneel down and worship. He wished she’d never had to experience that though.

 

Tom was pulled out of his thoughts by a hiss and a sharp pain in his foot. Instinctively, Tom jerked his foot away. A sleek grey cat sat at the end of the bed peering at him through slitted green eyes. This must be Gatsby. Tom had somehow managed to avoid him unintentionally all the times he’d been here. The cat’s ears lay flat against his head.

 

“Hello there, boy,” Tom murmured to him.

 

The cat’s tail twitched and a low growl emanated from him.

 

“I’m not gonna hurt her,” Tom said,his voice soft, soothing, anything to avoid the claws and teeth treatment.

 

Even to Tom, the cat didn’t look convinced. He glared at Tom, effectively trapping him for fear of unleashing the lion within. Abby stirred in her sleep, stretched out a little, wrapped herself around Tom more. Tom couldn’t help the erratic beat of his heart when she did that. He held her close to him. The cat meowed loudly, turning away from Tom, and padding up to Abby. He sat on her and began licking her face.

 

“Gatsby …” she mumbled, still mostly asleep, “Stop. Stop it, baby boy. God. Please.”

 

“Is he hungry?” Tom was trying very very hard not to laugh.

 

One of her eyes popped open, and he was blown away by the starkness of the green in this light.

 

“Probably,” she mumbled, “He gets like this in the mornings too though.”

 

“I’ll feed him, if you’d like,” Tom offered. He wanted to make good with this cat because he knew they were a package deal. If he wanted her, he’d have to take the cat too. Even if the cat hated his guts.

 

“Good idea,” Abby mumbled, “I’ll just, stay here …”

 

Before Tom could say anything, she buried herself in the blankets. This woman had a lot of blankets. At least six on the bed, and she used every one. They weren’t decorative. Tom felt as if he was baking … slowly. He swung his legs out of bed, into the cool air. He found his boxers easily and slipped them on.

 

“His food’s in the bathroom,” he heard Abby mumble from pile of blankets.

 

Tom walked into the bathroom. It was small, with an elegant claw foot tub. The white tile was cold under his feet. Tom found the bag of food under the sink and found the cat’s bowls on the floor beside the sink. He poured until the bowl was half full and put the food away. When he turned around, the cat was sitting in the doorway staring at him. Tom smiled and crouched. The cat padded up to him and gave him another experimental sniff. Then he sauntered past Tom, his tail sticking straight up. Tom chuckled and stood. He wandered into the kitchen, looking for the time. He didn’t see a microwave anywhere though, and her stove was gas, there also wasn’t a clock in sight. He saw her phone on the counter.

 

“Can I use your phone for the time, darling?” Tom called.

 

He heard a mumbled assent. Probably wrapped in all those damn blankets still. Thoughts of their night filled his mind. He wouldn’t describe it as torrid or illicit. Passionate though, yes. He felt raw in a way he’d never experienced before.

 

Tom grabbed her phone and pressed the home button. The screen flicked to life. 8:45 am. Tom was about to put the phone down when something caught his eye. Twelve missed calls. From a blocked number. Tom’s heart sank to his stomach. Unease prickled at the base of his skull. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so good. His whole being seemed to have gone numb. Tom carried the phone gingerly, like it was a bomb that might explode, back into the bedroom. He felt lost, helpless. He’d given himself to her. He had. Not Chris. Chris wasn’t here. Chris had no right to be calling her. Except … a niggling worm of a thought formed in the back of Tom’s mind … he had every right, he was her husband. He could take her away in an instant if he wanted. She still loved him after all. Didn’t she?

 

“Thanks for feeding Gatsby,” her voice was warm full of care and love.

 

“You’re welcome,” even to him, his voice sounded tight, stiff, angry.

 

She poked her head out of the blankets. Her eyes wide, a little fearful. Tom held the phone out to her, avoiding her eyes. He wasn’t sure he could contain himself. He wanted to pin her to the bed. He wanted to hold her there. Claim her all over again. He wanted nothing more than to show her why she couldn’t go, leave him.

 

She took the phone, staring at him, trying to meet his eyes, “Tom?”

 

“You have some missed calls,” Tom muttered, his voice treading the line between angry and sullen.

 

She pressed the home button, lighting the screen. Instantly, her face twisted into a look of panic, then morphed into a look of anger.

 

“I haven’t spoken to him,” she said softly, “He’s been calling for the last couple days though.”

 

She hasn’t spoken to him.

 

Good, something inside Tom hissed.

 

“That’s why he’s blocked,” she murmured, more to herself than Tom, “I can’t stop him from calling me, but I can make it impossible for him to get ahold of me.”

 

That calmed Tom a bit. He sat on the edge of her bed. He hadn’t realized he was shaking until now. Whether it was from rage or fear, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know. It frustrated him endlessly not to know, not understand that part of himself. He was always so sure of who he was, until she came along and showed him that he wasn’t what he thought. He needed things he didn’t think he needed.

 

“I’m not angry with you,” Tom stated, “I’m … afraid …”

 

She crawled out of the blankets, slowly. Like a butterfly leaving its cocoon. She scooted over to him and crawled into his lap. She placed both hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look her in the eye. He was trying not to get distracted by her nakedness, her nearness, her smell. Her eyes were brighter than usual. They still had weight behind them, but not the usual sadness. Or maybe it wasn’t sadness after all. Maybe it was emptiness. Her eyes seemed livelier than usual.

 

“Tom … I love you,” she whispered, “I want this with you. You are my … safe place. You are everything he’s not … and more.”

 

“That’s I’m afraid of …” he whispered.

 

He wasn’t Chris. The man had left a massive hole in her heart and he dreaded that he would find he could not fill it. He didn’t know how to voice the fears that threatened to choke him.

 

“I love you …” she whispered, her soft hands stroking his stubbled cheek.

 

“But you love him too …”

 

Her eyes took on that faded hazy look she got when she thought of him and her voice took on a toneless quality that disturbed Tom, “Pieces of me love pieces of him, and that’s not love at all anymore. Love is … not just an emotion. It’s not just … I’ll stick with you when times are good, but if they get sour you’re shit outta luck. Love is … staying with someone because you choose them. Over and over.” She looked at Tom again, really looked at him, and under the fierceness of her gaze he tried not to melt, “And I choose you, Tom. You. Over and over.”

 

He kissed her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She was a shooting star, a spitfire of passion and emotion. Something he’d not been privy to when they first met. He’d seen the version of her Chris created, sucked dry, bleeding, empty, a shell of a person. This woman was another ballpark and he hated to admit it but she was exactly the type that was usually completely and utterly out of his league. The type who looked closely before they leaped, the type who ran head first into trouble knowing they can get themselves out.

 

“Tell me a story,” Tom whispered into her hair, “Something about when you were younger. Something that would shock me.”

 

She laughed, “It wouldn’t be hard, what with your delicate English sensibilities.”

 

He chuckled and tossed back, “It’s not our fault you Americans are so uncouth.”

 

He could feel her smile against his skin, “When I was 19, me and my best friend, being the upstanding Americans we are, got very very drunk. We were also provided with some … greens ... by my younger brother.”

 

“Younger? And you smoked?”

 

“Shh … I’m telling a story …” she said, he could feel her grin widen, “Anyways, there we were in this little woodsy park right next to my parents house. And we’re laying there, staring up at the sky. And my friend says she’s always wanted to try streaking.”

 

“Oh god …”

 

“So, in our stupor, we stripped, we streaked, we conquered,” she said, trying contain her laughter, “When we got back to my place, we were winded and covered in dirt because we both fell multiple times.”

 

“Did anyone see you?”

 

“Honestly, not sure,” she said, “I’ve wondered though.”

 

“You always surprise me,” Tom whispered, “You seem so … put together. I never would have placed you as a rebel kid.”

 

“Hey, I got straight A’s in school and on the weekdays I was always in bed before ten,” she said, with a laugh, “Unless I had a good book.”

 

Tom smiled. Even if Chris somehow managed to get a hold of her, everything would be alright. Everything would be alright. At least, that’s what he told himself to ignore that worm of a thought. The thing about worms though, they just wriggled deeper and deeper into the earth.

 

 


	19. La Poésie est Dans la Vie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Abby share a candid conversation. Also, emotional poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there. Okay, so .. first off... I saw high-rise for the first time today and godamn that movie is twisted. It was like tarantino met whoever directed inception and they had a love child. Jeeze. Wow. Mind still blown. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter. I did. Brownie points to anybody who knows the source of the quotes at the end of the chapter. You'll see what I mean. COMMENTS, KUDOS, BOOKMARKS, etc, all super duper appreciated and so is every reader. Also, BTW, this story is already like three chapters longer than I originally intended, but now I've got plans for like ten more ... at least.

**XIX**

 

_(April 4 2017; 3p)_

 

Abby was sitting, curled up in Tom’s lap. She was reading and he was pouring over a script. Their time together, when they weren’t out doing things, was often spent cuddling and reading. Some evenings, Abby swindled Tom into playing scrabble or occasionally monopoly. He couldn’t really say no when she said please. Especially because when he caved, she would throw her arms around him and kiss him. And he couldn’t really say no to that.

 

Tonight was one of those nights where Abby was restless, maybe listless. Those were often the nights they played a game or went out together. More often than not though, they stayed in at hers. It was like an unspoken pact that they’d formed, trying to avoid going out to often. They wanted to keep their relationship as private as possible until they were ready. Tom wasn’t one to hide his life from the media, he wouldn’t go to extraordinary measures to keep their relationship under wraps and he certainly wouldn’t lie if directly asked. However, he was deeply enjoying their relationship quietly unfolding without pressure from the media yet.

 

He had done some serious promoting for Kong and so far had managed to avoid any questions about whether or not he was in a relationship. To be honest, all the damn reporters seemed to care about was Taylor. It bothered Tom, but only because he felt like they were focusing on that over his accomplishments. He was proud of Kong. He was proud of everything he did, poured himself into every role like plaster into a mold. But the reporters, god, they twisted things and focused on all the wrong details.

 

Tom was a little nervous that bringing his relationship with Abby to light would be like tossing a piece of meat to a den of starving wolves. He was afraid she’d be eaten alive by the barrage of pictures, invasive questions, and inappropriate insinuations. It was another matter with Taylor, she knew paparazzi like the back of her hand, she was used to it. Abby though, she hardly used social media. She didn’t have Facebook, or twitter, just Instagram. Plus, they’d both get caught in a hurricane of opposition about their age difference. He hadn’t given that much thought, but it was another of those thoughts that came up occasionally.

 

“Abby … darling,” he said, his lips moving against her curls.

 

She hummed a reply, reluctant to tear herself out of whatever fictional world she had immersed herself in. Tom kissed her hair before replying. He was hesitant to ask the question, but he knew he had to. If not for help dealing with his fears, then to satisfy the curiosity.

 

“Are you bothered by our age difference?” Tom finally asked.

 

She seemed to pause. She set her book down, eagle spread on her chest, to save her place. Gently, she tipped her head back so that it was resting on his shoulder and she could sort of look at him.

 

“No … are you?” her tone was cautious.

 

“Not personally,” Tom said, “I am a little concerned what people will think.”

 

Tom watched as her nose scrunched, and her eyebrows quirked, and her jaw opened a little. Her thinking face. He loved that face. It was adorable and unique.

 

“I – I see where your concern is, your career rests in the hands of what people think,” she said, “I also think though, that it’s not as big of a deal as you’d think. We’re two consenting adults. It’s not like I’m fifteen. I know what I’m doing. I’m an adult. And if people try and make out like I’m a child, they’ll have another thing coming to them.”

 

“Like?” his tone was teasing.

 

She smirked, “I’ll write them a strongly worded letter.”

 

Tom chuckled, the sound reverberating between them, “Really? Dear Paps, fuck you and all that you stand for?”

 

She had a mock offended expression, and pressed her hand to her heart in over-dramatized shock, “Tom! I would never say something like that! Honestly! Dear paps! They wouldn’t deserve the endearment!”

 

Tom laughed, “Smart ass.”

 

“You know it,” she said, winking at him, “In all seriousness though, I don’t think it’s something you need to be worried about. If there’s backlash, I’ll deal with it. I’m an adult. I make my own choices.”

 

This brought up another thing that had been bugging Tom. He wanted to address it before their visit to New York.

 

“There is going to be backlash, of some sort,” Tom said, “I’m concerned about you getting hurt in the crossfire too.”

 

She kissed his jaw tenderly, softly. It was actually rather impressive considering the angle her neck was craned at. Tom’s arms wound around her, holding her close to him.

 

“Tom, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m no stranger to a little pain,” she said softly, “And if I get to be with you, it’s more than worth it to me.”

 

“I don’t want to be the cause of any pain for you,” he mumbled, as she kissed his jaw again. It was distracting, though not in a bad way.

 

She twisted around to face him and look him in the eye, “Tom, I’m a big girl. I can manage.” Her hands moved to cup his face, her fingers tracing his cheekbones. She loved the slant of his cheekbones. “I love that you want to protect me, that you care for me, but inevitably at some point we will hurt each other. It happens. We are human. We have flaws. We say things. We do things. We regret. We live. We move on. The choice lies in whether or not to move on together or apart.”

 

“Together, then,” Tom sighed as she ran a hand through his hair. He relaxed under her touch.

 

She hummed her reply, ran her fingers through his hair again, and kissed his forehead.

 

“I love you,” he whispered, under her careful touch.

 

“I love you too,” she replied softly.

 

It amazed Tom how what once sounded like an automatic reply to him, in all his other relationships, came out of her mouth so differently. It sounded unforced, unquestionable, like she simply spoke the truth. It occurred to Tom that she always talked like that, like she meant it. Putting one word after another with care, like everything that came out of her mouth was a truth that needed speaking. Even when she was hesitant.

 

“I’d like to share something with you,” she said, her fingers still threaded through his curls.

 

“I’d like you to share everything with me,” Tom meant to sound teasing, but it came out deadpan. HE looked her in the eyes. There was fear, but there was something else. Happiness. Excitement.

 

“I’d like to share everything with you,” she said softly, and then as she unfolded herself from his lap, she said with a smirk, “Let’s start with this though.”

 

She went into her bedroom. The room seemed empty without her. He hadn’t realized how much she livened the place up. He had a feeling that when she was inclined to it she was the person people described as the life of the party. When she came out, she held her leather-bound notebook. Tom’s heart beat sped up. He had been dying to take a peek in there, but he didn’t want to push or pry. He understood that art was a very emotional thing, and the creation of it was a private and intimate experience. He felt honored in what she had chosen to share with him.

 

She sat beside him, and unwound the leather cord that bound the book closed. The pages were blank, unlined, and had a yellowish hue. As she flipped through the pages, he caught a glimpse of pressed flowers, drawings, a few words here and there. Finally, she settled on a page and handed the book to him. It was surprisingly warm under his fingertips, at least the leather was, the pages were smooth and cool. Her handwriting was clear, distinct, well-formed.

 

“It’s a series of three poems going into my next book,” she said, “This is the first. The others are on the following two pages.”

 

Tom’s eyes wandered to her face before going back to the page. She was chewing her lip in nervousness, her hands clenching the fabric of her t-shirt. He wanted to do something to relax her, but he figured the best thing he could do was read.

 

_you pt 1_   
_i see you sometimes_   
_often when i least expect it_   
_sometimes it’s something small_   
_the quirk of someone’s smile_   
_the way the light hits a pair of brown eyes_   
_the way someone talks about a certain thing_   
_sometimes it’s something bigger_   
_sometimes it’s me finding an old ticket to_   
_a movie we saw together_   
_or that shirt you gave me that i can’t get rid of_   
_or the song we danced to when you_   
_asked me to bind myself to you_   
_or the songs i played to soothe myself_   
_after you asked me to rip myself from you_   
_like a tumor that has gone too far_   
_sometimes i see you_   
_sometimes i see you_   
_and god, i wish i didn’t_

 

Tom was reading about Chris. He didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, he was angry, so angry that Chris had hurt her the way he had. On the other, he was afraid, deeply afraid, that her feelings for him, how much love she gave to him, would overpower her feelings for Tom should he ever choose to make an appearance. Somewhere too, he thought of Angie. This was what it had been like for weeks after Angie had decimated him.

 

Tom flipped the page. He needed something to clear his head. Hopefully, the next one will be different.

 

_ you pt 2 _   
_i still see you sometimes_   
_but i’ve learned to live with it_   
_i’ve learned to make it not so debilitating_   
_sometimes, i go weeks without seeing you_   
_i can’t believe the words that live under my skin_   
_are still about you_   
_they still rankle with your touch_   
_i still rankle with your touch_   
_…_   
_something changed recently_   
_not all my words are about you anymore_   
_some are, some are_   
_i have a lot of words about him now though_   
_he is so much better than you_   
_you him him you you you_   
_i write to you a lot, but now I write to him_   
_you reached into me and ripped away_   
_the brands he left when he told me to leave_   
_you_

Tom’s eyes flashed to hers for a second, a warm feeling of unfathomable depth forming in his chest. He was trying not to tear up. He turned the page.

 

_ You pt 3 _   
_i see you all the time_   
_your smile, your laugh, your blue blue eyes_   
_deep as the ocean and just as wide_   
_you bring me flowers when the skies are gray_   
_you bring me joy when i am gray_   
_i don’t have enough words_   
_living under my skin to express_   
_just what you mean to me_   
_thomas, thomas, thomas_   
_you, you, you, you, you, you, you_   
_my mind replays like a prayer on repeat_   
_you are all my good things_

 

Tom really was crying. She wiped his tears away with gentle fingertips and kissed him again and again. When he stopped crying, she smiled at him. Sometimes her smile was like the sun, but right now it was like dawn, a glow, rather than a brightness.

 

“May I look through it?” he asked, gesturing to the book.

 

“Yeah,” she said, “You can take it home with you tonight. I’ll need it in the morning though. I’ll feel naked without it for too long.”

 

Tom’s heart lunged. She trusted him. She really truly trusted him.

 

“I’m thinking of getting another tattoo,” she said.

 

He looked up at her. He knew she had one. A quote in typewriter font on her left forearm. It wasn’t something they ever talked about and Tom never asked, especially once he’d read it. It seemed connected to Chris somehow. It read, ‘ _my broken veins say that if my heart stops beating, we’ll bleed the same way_ ’. No punctuation, very simple. He felt like he’d heard it somewhere, but couldn’t place it.

 

“Of?”

 

“A quote,” she said, “ _La poesie est dans la rue_.”

 

“Poetry is in the streets,” Tom translated aloud, “That … would suit you.”

 

He still didn’t ask about her other tattoo. He really wasn’t sure if he was ready to know about that one yet.

 


	20. It Beats For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Abby both have dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey dears, okay. So another chapter out of the way. Next chapter will contain smutt. If you want to skip around, it'll be either be the first half of the chapter or the whole chapter, it'll be in the notes. Anyways, lots of love. COMMENTS, KUDOS, BOOKMARKS, are all deeply appreciated and so is every reader.

**XX**

 

_(April 4 2017; 12a)_

 

Tom was almost feverish in his reading, his studying of her leather-bound. Every sketch, every damned word, made him love her more and more. As soon as he had gotten home, he’d slipped out of his clothes and was in bed, devouring her work line by line, page by page. Every word, living breathing, the essence of her. He hadn’t realized how apart of her, her writing was until he’d read her poetry from last night. She had put it in such a way that he understood. She had words living under her skin.

 

One poem, a recent one in the line-up, he knew was about him. It was a sweet one accompanied by a rudimentary sketch of his eyes, and brows.

 

_i wish i could draw you_  
_i wish i could capture_  
_the planes of your face_  
_the shine of your blue eyes_  
_the perfect curve of your mouth_  
_the quirk of your brows_  
_i have never wished that art_  
_was my gift, instead of words_  
_but you’re face makes me_  
_wish_  
_want_  
_i guess i’ll have to settle for_  
_studying your face over a lifetime_

 

He wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to draw him, or paint him, that her words were enough, more than enough. Every poem sketch told him something new about her. He was rendered immobile in the havoc Chris had wreaked, resurrected in the new spring of hope she found in him, and brought to life with the warmth of the love she wrote about. He learned of her parents, the havoc they wreaked on her. Tom felt something settle in him, that he hadn’t felt so thoroughly before reading these works she so intimately and painstakingly crafted. He felt the trust she placed in him. A warm living breathing thing.

 

Tom scoured her leather-bound like he had The Bitter Moon. He wished he could have a copy of it to carry with him. To look to when he felt complicated. The leather-bound wasn’t completely filled, almost, but not quite. He idly flipped through the blank pages when he had finished devouring, scouring, absorbing. When he flipped to the last page, his throat constricted. There was a strip of pictures, like you got from those picture booths. There were four pictures. Of her. Of him. Some part of him felt relieved to put a face to the name. The strip was taped to the page.

 

Tom’s eyes sought his clock. 2 am. He sat up to scrutinize the photo better. Chris wasn’t classically handsome. Thick dark hair, dark eyes, tan skin, broad. His skin was marked with acne. Tom wondered briefly if these had been taken when they first started dating. He knew they’d been high school sweethearts. In the top picture, they were both looking at the camera, grinning. In the second, he was looking at Abby and she was looking down. A blush stained her cheeks. In the third picture, he was kissing her cheek. Tom’s jealousy reared it’s head. That dark twisted part of him noted the sparkle in her eye, the blush, the oh-so-happy smile. The last picture near drove him insane. Their foreheads were pressed together, his hand on her cheek, hers threaded through his hair. Those delicate hands. Looking like they were completely besotted with each other. Something in Tom, twisted and rotted at the sight.

 

Part of him wanted to burn the strip of pictures, wanted to set them aflame with no remorse, no regret. He wanted to watch them melt away in the flames. Then his eyes caught on the words written next to the pictures. It was a sloppy verse, not as neat and thought out as the other poetry. It was dated six months ago. The words were slightly smeared, with splotches where she had clearly been crying. Tom’s fingers brushed the once wet smears of writing. He took a deep breath before reading it.

 

_-a reminder_  
_don’t ever let him back in_  
_remember this, remember it_  
_the bruises kissing your skin_  
_after his fists brushed you_  
_the tears when he blamed you_  
_for falling apart when he shattered you_  
_remember this, don’t ever forget_  
_the pain because you know_  
_he’ll try and come round again_  
_he always always does_  
_and what do you get from it all_  
_nothing, nothing but pain_  
_and anger and hate_  
_don’t let him in again_  
_please_

 

Tom could almost hear the broken plea. He left the picture where it was. He couldn’t help but stare at it though. He knew that the pictures, despite the reassuring words written next to them, would haunt him. She meant far more to him than he had originally intended. That scared him, more than he wanted to admit. As Tom finally, drifted off it occurred to him that he really needed to get a handle on these fears otherwise it would tear them apart.

 

_Tom was sitting in Abby’s apartment, on her couch. He recognized the face sitting across from him on the edge of the coffee table. Only from the images he’d seen in her leather-bound earlier. There was a crushing sense of dreaminess, the image faded like an old polaroid. Chris smiled at Tom, and Tom couldn’t describe the smile as anything other than wolfish. Dread slid down his spine like cold oil and pooled in his stomach. Chris’s grin widened, like he knew. When he opened his mouth, no voice came out, but Tom somehow understood everything he was saying. ‘I can take her from you. In a heartbeat. I can. Can, maybe will. I had her first you know. I’m the only other person in this whole world who has touched her, tasted her like you. Do you think that kind of thing goes away?’ A laugh, a mirthless cold laugh, ‘No. It doesn’t. I have a piece of her, one that you can never have. God, just thinking about her, on our wedding night. I remember I-‘ An epilepsy inducing array of flashing images. The ones he’d seen earlier. Memories of coming home to Angie in bed with another man._

 

Right as he was about to break, screaming for forgiveness for whatever sin had caused him to have that hellish dream, Tom jolted awake. The sun had risen. He glanced at his alarm. 8 am. He ran a hand through his sweat drenched hair and scrubbed his face with his hands. He’d never had a dream that had left him so shaken. His hands were still trembling and his stomach was rocky.

 

He’d never felt so thankful to have a session with Walden.

*******

 

  
_(April 5 2017; 9am)_

 

_She was paralyzed under him, staring into those eyes. Those eyes she knew so well. Those eyes. This memory. She knew it. She knew what would happen next as she disentangled herself from him. She walked over to the kitchen area and got herself a glass of water. She braced herself for the barrage of ruthless names he would call her after she asked what his schedule was like, wanting him, craving just a little bit more of his time. This wasn’t long before it all fell to shit. It was a few weeks shy of her return to Seattle. She waited. She waited for the hurt, the pain. It never came. Instead, she felt gentle hands on her waist. A kiss she unwittingly leaned into, placed sweetly on her neck. A whispered, ‘I love you.’ The words warm and sweet against her ear. She watched as he walked past her into the bathroom, flashing her that cheeky crooked grin she’d fallen for. As he walked into the bathroom, the scene faded and she was jolted into another scenario. He was standing by her, holding her hand with shining eyes, as she pushed. Tears and sweat rolled down her flushed face. Distantly, someone ordered her to push again. Her body reacted even as she did not. What was this? Ghosts of Christmas past bullshit? A tiny cry filled the room and she knew. Chris was on his feet, at the foot of the bed, eagerly watching the doctors, his eyes had the look of starved man who had a heaping plate of Thanksgiving food placed in front of him. Suddenly, the baby, their baby, was in his arms. He carried the baby over to her and placed him in her arms. This wasn’t right. Something inside her screamed. Where was he? Where was Tom? The baby had a full head of thick dark hair, his nose, and thick sweeping lashes. As soon as he was laid against her breast, the scene shifted again. The baby she held in her arms looked slightly different. Tom’s nose. Tom’s lashes. Thick golden brown hair that she knew would be curly. She stared at the baby in awe, then she looked over her shoulder and there was Tom. Gripping the side of her bed with white knuckles, staring at the tiny little life in her arms like he was the only thing that mattered. He reached out a long-fingered hand and brushed his fingertips against the baby’s cheek. Tom leaned over and pressed a kiss to the baby’s head. Then his head shifted, and she was staring into those blue eyes and as he kissed her she felt the sensation of falling. When she opened her eyes, she was hurtling towards the ocean, the ocean that was the exact same shades of blue as his eyes. She hit the water, and sank into the water, enveloped in a comforting silence. She wasn’t a strong swimmer, but she kicked her way to the surface. If anything, the ocean seemed to help her, buoying her up to the surface. When her head burst through the cresting undulating waves, she gasped for air, a breath that rang across the ocean._

 

She woke with that same breath. The white ceiling of her bedroom stared back at her. She couldn’t decide if what she had just experienced was a dream or a nightmare. She briefly wondered what her subconscious could possibly be trying to tell. With a sigh, she rolled over and reached for her phone. When the display lit up, she had a text from Tom.

 

**Tom: I’ll be over at 10:30. I have an appointment with Walden. Don’t worry, darling. Your book is safe. I love you.**

 

She smiled at the sweet thoughtfulness of the text. She didn’t bother replying, seeing the time and knowing he’d be in session with Walden. She’d tell him in person that she appreciated the text. Slowly, she stretched and rolled out of bed. Her feet hit the cool wood floor, and quietly she padded into the main room of the apartment. Light poured into the room through the arched windows, bright and warm. She meandered into the kitchen and put a pot on the stove for some tea. Then she pulled open the fridge. Eggs sounded good. Cage-free, free-range, not fed grain eggs. The difference in flavor was worth the difference in cost to her. She fried two eggs over easy and chopped a fresh avocado. Both she seasoned lightly with a little salt and pepper.

 

She sat down to eat, her eyes staring out the windows. The view she had was excellent, of the London skyline. She’s lucked out on this apartment. Apparently, it was owned by Andrews and was used as a sort of retreat for some of the writers they published for. Caroline had offered it to her when she had broken down in a meeting about another book. She winced at the memory and pushed it out of her mind. Instead she turned her attention back to her food.

 

When she was finished eating and had cleaned up after herself, she walked into the living area. Putting on some music, she lay on the couch, and stared out the window, letting the music wash over her. She laid on the couch like that until she heard the soft knock on her door that meant Tom was there.

 

She pushed herself on her feet and approached the door, not even bothering to look through the peep hole, she opened the door. She missed him. In the tiny span of time he had been at his home, she missed him. Tom was there, holding her leather-bound to his chest like it was something precious. He was smiling at her. She threw herself into his arms. Arms he opened to her and wrapped around her smaller body. He smelled so good, clean linens, cinnamon, and his own musk.

 

“I missed you,” she whispered.

 

He chuckled, “I was just here, darling.”

 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t miss you,” she said with a smile.

 

“I missed you too,” he said against her hair.

 

She let herself be held for a moment before extricating herself and saying, “I have hot water on the stove. Care for some tea?”

 

“That sounds delightful,” he said, following her into the flat.

 

She maneuvered into the kitchen. He sat on one of the stools at the counter. His eyes tracked her as she stood on her tip-toes to pull a huge mug from her frosted window cupboards. She set the cup in front of him.

 

“I have black tea, earl grey, green, jasmine, and ginger lemon,” she said, her back to him.

 

“Mmm … I’ll take the earl grey,” he replied.

 

She reached into another cupboard and withdrew a bag of tea. She dropped the bag in the cup, taking the string and wrapping it around the cup with careful precision. Then she walked over to the stove where a tea pot sat on low heat. She carried it over with careful hands, and poured it into the cup.

 

As she walked the teapot back to the stove, she said, “Do you want anything in your tea?”

 

“Milk,” Tom said, “And sugar.”

 

“Mmm … I don’t have sugar. Will honey work?”

 

“Perfectly.”

 

He watched as she took the honey, in a little glass bee-hive shaped container and carried it over to him, setting it down. It cam with a little wooden honey wand. Then she grabbed a little container of half and half from the fridge and set that in front of him as well. Then, she sat next to him. As Tom prepared his tea, it was Abby’s turn to watch. Something seemed a little off, tense, about him. Like he had something he wanted to say, but was waiting for the right time.

 

“How was your session?” Abby asked.

 

“I – well, excellent,” Tom said, seeming relieved that she had brought it up, “I saw – I saw the pictures in your leather-bound last night.”

 

“Oh,” she seemed to freeze, waiting for Tom to continue.

 

“At first, I was upset, not at you, just … in general,” he rushed through the sentence, “ he said, “Then I fell asleep and had this terrible nightmare. Of Chris, talking to me, telling me how he could take you away.”

 

She looked at him, her eyes following the curves and lines of his face, “Oh … Tom …”

 

“Anyways, I talked over it with Walden,” he said softly, “And I wasn’t going to tell you about seeing the picture or any of it, but he said I should.”

 

Abby looked at him. At the perfect straight line of his nose, the rich blue of his eyes, the layer of reddish-blond stubble that graced his cheeks and chin. She could spend forever staring at his face, that beautiful face. She stood up, and approached him. Taking his hand in hers, she placed it over heart.

 

“Feel that?” she whispered.

 

He nodded.

 

“It beats for you,” she whispered.

 

Tom’s eyes took on a dark look, “Good, because I’m going to claim you.” His voice was full of dark promises and her knees almost gave out. The man could make the phone book sound erotic and sensual. “Do you have any issues with that?” He stood up, quickly. Pulling Abby into his arms so he didn’t accidentally push her over. Her heartbeat quickened and suddenly she forgot quite how to breathe. His arms around her waist holding her flush with him, she didn’t want him to think she’d be gotten so easily, so she made sure to give a cheeky reply.

 

She smirked at him, “Claim away. But, you’re tea might get cold.”

 

He grinned and gave a growl, “I don’t give a damn about my tea.”

 

He swept her into a kiss then, his mouth claiming hers completely, as he held her head with the fingers he had gently threaded through her curls. Her fingers fisted the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Into it, Tom poured all his fear, his doubt, his love, his passion. And when they broke apart for air, he felt a little like he was breathing after a near drowning.

 


	21. Say It For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure Smut. Whole chapter folks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure smut. This is just unadulterated smut. So, enjoy my dears. Lots of love, comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc are all deeply appreciated as is every reader.

**XXI**

 

_(April 5 2017; 1030am)_

 

Tom picked Abby up, tossing her over his shoulder, and carried her to the bedroom. There was something a little different than the first time they made love. Abby knew Tom was struggling with a deep-seated fear of being taken from him. She wanted to help him believe she wasn’t going anywhere. Tom tossed her on the bed unceremoniously. She stared up, at him, waiting.

 

Tom peeled off his white v-neck and black cardigan in one fluid motion, his pants and boxers followed quickly in suit. He grabbed the waistband of Abby’s joggers, and pulled off her sweats and panties. He surveyed her naked lower body for a moment. A blush blossomed on her cheek under his weighted gaze.

 

“Lift your arms,” he ordered, his own arms crossed over his chest.

 

She did as she was asked, maintaining eye contact as she did so. Tom prowled towards her again, with an almost feline grin. He snatched the hem of her shirt, and pulled it over her head, freeing her breasts. He surveyed her body once again. His eyes tracing every curve, dimple, scar, stretch mark. He was going claim every little piece of her. His hands, broad and long-fingered, reach down and gripped on of her breasts. His fingers brushing her nipple, then twisting it, eliciting a sharp gasp from Abby.

 

“Did you like that?” he asked, his voice dark and heavy.

 

“Yes,” she said quickly, breathlessly.

 

Tom pinched her nipple between his fingers and rolled it experimentally. The woman sighed happily under his fingers. Tom then took Abby’s hand, and pulled her up from the bed, pulling him flush with her. He wanted the feel of her body against him, completely bare for him to ravage as he pleased. Her nipples brushed against his torso and his hard cock, twitched. Her hands went to his waist, but Tom batted them away gently. He looked at her, his eyes darkened with lust.

 

  
“I’m going to be in charge for a little while, darling,” he said, “Alright?”

 

She resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment, and simply nodded.

 

“Get down on your knees,” he said, firmly.

 

Abby dropped to her knees. She knew what he wanted and she didn’t mind. She took his hard cock in her mouth, her mouth wrapping around the tip, she hollowed her cheeks and bobbed her head up and down. She paid special attention to the tip, tracing the ridges with her tongue. She could have sworn Tom shuddered under her deft touch, his fingers finding her curls and threading them through. Soft grunts and small moans slipped from his mouth. After a few minutes of this, Tom pulled her mouth away sharply.

 

“Enough,” Tom said, his voice as dark and rich as molten dark chocolate, “Kneel on the bed.”

 

She stood and crawled to the center of the bed, then she knelt. She could feel Tom following her from the dip of the bed from his weight. A gentle hand placed on her back guided her to her hands and knees. She could feel his cock brush against her folds, and the sensation sent a thrill down her spine, and heated desire pooled in her core. He leaned over her, his chest pressing lightly against her back. His mouth found her ear.

 

“Do you want me, my love? Do you?” he whispered into her ear, his hot breath caressing her skin.

 

It was enough to make her moan out, “Tom.”

 

“Say it for me,” he whispered, pushing the tip of his hard member between her folds just the slightest.

 

She ground against him to try and work off that need, that desire, but he stilled her with a firm hand.

 

“Say it,” he ordered.

 

“I want you Tom,” she gasped, “Please.”

 

“Please what?”

 

“Please take me,” she let out.

 

Tom sheathed himself in one fluid thrust. She cried out at the sudden entry and the pleasure when he hit her g-spot from this new angle. She moaned his name as he rocked back and forth, pulling out a little, then sheathing himself a few times, then almost pulling out all the way, and sheathing himself. She moaned his name and trembled under him. He kept his hands at her hips, to hold her steady.

 

“Oh Tom,” his name flew from her lips as a litany.

 

“Do you like the feeling of that, of me inside you, filling you?” he asked darkly.

 

“Yes!” she cried out, biting her bottom lip so hard she almost broke the skin. Tom thrust hard into her, braking the pace he’d developed. She threw her head back and moaned long and low. Almost like that was the very thing she needed. This only encourage Tom more. He leaned over her again, slowing his pace a little.

 

“Do you want me to fuck you hard?” he murmured against her ear, “Do you, my love? Do you want me make you mine?”

 

His fingers swept around her things and reached that sensitive nub at the apex of her thighs. She almost buckled as his fingers skated circles around it with just the right amount of pressure She moaned his name again, almost like a plea. Tom smirked against her hair.

 

“Yes, Tom, please!” she cried out.

 

Still toying with that sensitive bud, he pulled out of her almost all the way before slamming back into her. She cried out, a noise of such pleasure. Tom did it over and over until she shattered under him, moaning his name over and over, clutching the white sheets of the bed. The sensation of her contracting around him nearly brought him over the edge as well, but he pulled out one last time and thrust in her before pulling out spilling himself on the white sheets. A few moans and grunts slipping out from between his lips.

 

Tom collapsed next to her, loving the feeling of her body as she lay down next to him, one arm wrapping across his chest, protectively, possessively. She sighed happily against his skin.

 

“I love you,” he said, “By the way, about our trip to New York, Luke’s going to be with us the first couple days to give you the rundown on how to handle the paps. After that, it’s just you and I. And I was wondering if you’d like to share a hotel room.”

 

“It’ll cut down on costs,” she said, not that that mattered to him.

 

“Mmm … and you wouldn’t enjoy sleeping in my arms every night?” he said against her hair. “Something you often dream about?” His tone was teasing as he referenced a poem she had written about him in her leather-bound. She blushed hard.

 

“You … oohh,” she said, mock offended.

 

“There’s a couple places I want to take you in particular,” he said, his hand taking hers, and his other arm winding around her shoulders.

 

“I like that,” she said.

 

“What?” he asked, genuinely confused.

 

“That you want to take me places,” she said, and the shine in her eyes knocked him breathless.

 

How had he gone so long without her in his life? Her passion and strength matched his own, her vitality, her ownership of self. They were so matched, and balanced. She was such a careful creature, but she had befriended him and then opened up to him further despite what her scars told her to do. 

 

“I want to take you everywhere,” he said, “Now, how would you like to spend the rest of the day, darling?”

 

And she broke into a grin.

 

 

 


	22. Welcome To New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom, Abby, and Luke fly to New York. Tom and Abby have their first paparazzi encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! Okay, so this chapter was a lot of fun to write! I enjoyed it. I've also got a surprise chapter for the next one, with some *dundundun* foreshadowing on what's to come. Anyways, COMMENTS, KUDOS, BOOKMARKS are always deeply appreciate as is every reader. Lots of love, ghost.

**XXII**

 

_(April 17 2017; 11am)_

 

Abby settled into her seat beside Tom on the plane. Graciously, he had let her have the window seat like she’d asked. She liked to watch the world fall away and rise to meet them all over again. Beneath the seat in front of her, Gatsby slept in his carrier. His vet had given her a sedative to put him out for their flight. Tom was sitting next to her with his carry on.

 

He seemed tired, but happy. His eyes had a warm glow to them that she hadn’t seen before they were together. She wondered if he had been as empty as she was at one point. Her hand found his between the seats. As soon as he felt the touch of her fingers, his hand claimed hers, fingers twining together. He cast her a smile before returning his attention to the script in his other hand.

 

Right behind Tom, Luke sat with an assistant. Abby wasn’t sure what to make of him. He seemed a little nervous, like he was high-strung. He had welcomed her warmly, giving her a hug when they met. He’d also given her a brief rundown on how to react to paparazzi if it somehow leaked that Tom was going to be at the airport.

 

Security had been surprisingly easy, even with Gatsby. Maybe that also had to do with the quick security they got to go through, mostly because of Tom’s influence. Before they boarded the plane, she got to know Luke a little. They chatted together while Tom was distracted by his script. Even so, Abby clung close to Tom’s side, feeling far more comfortable with him in close proximity. Despite being a little more than slightly distracted by his script, Tom always made sure Abby was comfortable, he always had a hand on her or if he couldn’t have his hand on her, he stood as close to her as possible.

 

The real work would begin once they were high above the clouds. Luke had given her a brief run down on the things they’d be going over in the airport, but he didn’t get into the details. Tom had given her the smallest of pitying looks before assuring her that Luke knew what he was doing. She hadn’t questioned it and she wasn’t overwhelmed in the least, but she appreciated that Tom cared nonetheless.

 

“Are you comfortable, darling?” Tom murmured to her, tearing his eyes away from his script for a little while before they took flight.

 

“Yes, thank you,” she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

 

“How do you feel?” he asked.

 

“A little nervous,” she said thoughtfully, “Mostly about the book signing. Plus, I’m handing in the rough outline of my next book, along with some possible titles and concept art.”

 

“You have no need to nervous,” he said, smiling. She loved the way his eyes lit up, and crinkled at the corners when he smiled, “You are charming and kind and everyone will adore you like I do.”

 

She smiled at him, “Oh? Like you do?”

 

“Well, maybe not quite as much,” he conceded.

 

Her smile widened, “You know … the outline is a surprise. It’s a month early and I have you to thank for that.”

 

“Me?” his eyebrows rising in disbelief.

 

“Yes, there’s a lot about you in it,” she said, her gaze not quite meeting his, “After we met, the words just seemed to pour out of me.” A light blush tinged her cheeks.

 

Tom kissed her cheek softly, his stubble rubbing pleasantly against her soft smooth skin. His warmth, blossomed across her cheek. When Tom leaned back, he grinned. He couldn’t believe that he had inspired her to write so much. If he was being honest, he was more than a little proud of himself for that. She blinked slowly, basking in Tom’s warmth.

 

“I guess you could say you’re my muse,” she said, with a small smile.

 

“A job I happily accept,” he traced his finger along her cheekbone.

 

At that moment, the seatbelt light switched on the plane’s crew began flight procedures. Abby stretched the belt across her lap and buckled it firmly in place. Tom did the same, then taking Abby’s hand, he turned his attention back to his script. Abby stared absently out the window. Really, she was waiting for flight to start. As the crew finished up the last of the procedures and took their seats, the plane began to move on the tarmac, scooting none too smoothly into place on the runway. Then began the rush, the forward plunge, and then al of a sudden the nose of the plane was airborne. Abby watched the ground fall away as they climbed the skies.

 

“I love to watch the ground disappear,” she murmured, “I love flying. It feels like I’m leaving all my problems behind on the ground.”

 

As the plane stabilized at the correct altitude, Luke leaned forward and said quietly, “Abby, I’m going to hand you some papers for you to look over. It’s all on handling the paparazzi, dos, don’ts, etc.”

 

She nodded, and took the stack of papers he slipped through the crack between hers and Tom’s seats. It was a thick stack of papers, so thick in fact that Abby stared at it for a moment before flipping through it. She briefly wondered how handling paparazzi would possibly need this much instruction. As she flipped through it though, she realized it wasn’t strictly text. There were picture, charts, example situations. It seemed that Luke was incredibly thorough. She scanned the table of contents he’d thrown together, before going into the actual packet.

 

As she was reading, she realized just how difficult this could be. She enjoyed her privacy, she liked the quiet. This, Tom’s life, was chaotic, always on the high end of high-strung. She was dating the internet’s lover, and the internet would probably be none too pleased. And she was just the type of person to google what they were saying about her. She almost never wore make-up, rarely wore name brands. This would be a slaughter-fest, them trying to butcher whatever they could get their hands on. The thought made her head swim. She shot a glance at Tom out of the corner of her eye.

 

He looked comfortable, at ease. All tenseness in his face erased as he completely absorbed himself in the script. She wondered what it was, but she didn’t ask. She didn’t know if he could tell her, and she didn’t want to risk being told no and then the curiosity eating at her. Instead, she lovingly traced the lines of his face with her eyes, hyper aware of his presence.

 

“Are you staring, darling?” he murmured.

 

“Yes,” the word came out almost as a breath.

 

“Why is that?”

 

“You’re a nice thing to look at,” she replied with a smile.

 

She could see a hint of a smile playing at his lips, which only made her grin widen. She turned her attention back to the packet of papers Luke had given her. She spent the first couple hours alternating between reading that and reading a book she’d brought. The thought of any of the situations Luke had come up with happening made her nauseous, so she used the book to calm her nerves. She could almost feel Luke watching her, cataloguing her actions, making sure she was in fact reading. She knew he was just trying to make sure Tom came out of this on the up and up, but it was strange to be scrutinized like that. When she had finally finished reading it, she leaned back slipped it through the crack between the seats.

 

“Thank you, Luke,” she whispered.

 

“Of course,” he said with a smile, “Do you have any questions? There’s a high likelihood that there will be some paparazzi at the airport when we land.”

 

She shook her head, “It’s pretty straight forward.”

 

“Good. Good,” he said,, “Tom’s been pretty tight lipped about you. All I know is that he’s besotted with you and that you’re a writer. He said that we’re heading to New York for a book signing of yours.”

 

She nodded and smiled, “My book has been holding steady as number one New York Times bestseller for the last two weeks, so they wanted to fly me in and do a big book signing to keep the momentum going. I’ll also be handing in my two cents on what poems should go into the Barnes and Noble special edition of my book they’ll be printing and some art pieces.”

 

“What’s the title of your book?”

 

“The Bitter Moon,” she said.

 

“Is it your first?”

 

She nodded, “Yeah. I’ll actually be handing in the outline for my second book while we’re in New York. And title propositions.”

 

“Oh wow, so you’re ready to dive back in,” Luke said.

 

“Yeah, it’s been a rough couple of months, but I’m rising above,” she said.

 

There was a brief lull in the conversation before Luke switched topics.

 

“How did you and Tom meet?” Luke asked, his tone curious.

 

“Ahah … we live near each other and frequent a lot of the same shops,” she said smiling, “And he just walked up to me and started chatting with me.”

 

She could hear the smile in his voice, “Was it love at first sight?”

 

She laughed, “Fuck no. I ran from him when he first asked me out.”

 

Luke stifled a laugh of his own, “You ran?”

 

“Mmhmm,” she nodded.

 

“From Tom?” he asked, almost incredulous.

 

“Oh yeah,” she said, “It scared me. I wasn’t really ready for a relationship.”

 

Tom craned his neck to peer through the crack, “She came round eventually though. I think I tricked her into it with my charm.”

 

Abby rolled her eyes, “Oh yeah, all that charm. It just oozes from you. How could I resist?’ Her tone was so flat that both Luke and Tom started cracking up.

 

“I like her,” Luke said, still laughing, “She’ll keep you in check.”

 

“Oh, she already does,” Tom gave her a devilish grin. It was almost a Loki grin.

 

They retreated back into their seats. Abby took some melatonin to help her fall asleep. She dozed off, lulled by the sound of the engine and the melatonin. When she awoke, the plane had begun its descent. Tom was sleeping beside her in his seat, his heas tilted towards her as he slept. Her eyes wandered to the window. The New York skyline grew closer and closer with every passing second. It seemed like the city was rising up to greet them. She’d have to write about that.

  
As the nose of the plane tilted down, and the wheels hit the tarmac with a jolt, Abby’s eyes were glued to window. She didn’t fly often, but she loved every second. Tom had woken when the wheels hit the tarmac and he’d taken her hand. The plane ran down the runway, gradually slowing down. When they pulled into one of the boarding spots, the captain made the announcement of their arrival Tom scooted out to get their carry-ons down. He shouldered her large backpack, and took his rolling suitcase.

 

“You don’t have to carry mine,” she murmured to him.

 

“I want to,” he assured her, planting a kiss on her cheek.

 

“Are you sure?” she asked.

 

“Of course, love,” he said, “You just worry about Gatsby.”

 

She smiled at him, “Thank you.”

 

She grabbed Gatsby’s carrier and followed Tom off the jetway. The New York airport was, if possible, busier than the London one. The assault of noise, lights, and smell hit her like a train after the last few hours on the quiet dim plane. She nearly froze, but had enough practice with her anxiety that she was able to keep moving forward. Her feet propelled her even as she wanted to stop and spend a few minutes to adjust to chaos and cacophony. Luke swept past them, probably scouting for paparazzi and to make sure their car was ready for them.

 

“You alright love?” Tom asked, not missing a thing.

 

“Just used to the quiet of the plane is all,” she murmured.

 

They got maybe seven yards before she heard the loud shout, “Tom!!!” The snap of a camera shutter closing hit her. She made the mistake of looking towards it to her right, where three or four paparazzi were starting to follow them. “Tom! Who is this? Girlfriend? New lover Tom?” They were relentless, sticking to Tom and Abby like glue even through the crowd of the airport.

 

“Tom, what of our luggage?” she asked, trying to keep her voice quiet so the paparazzi wouldn’t pick up on it.

 

He loved how she talked, “Directly to the hotel. Luke’s taken care of it.”

 

She simply nodded. Tom placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her slightly. It was mostly for his own benefit. He wanted to make sure she was safe because of the paparazzi, and not overly stressed. The paparazzi continued shouting questions at them, shoving the cameras in their faces. Abby stumbled a little as one of them nearly stepped in front of her. Tom halted.

 

“Would you mind taking a few steps back, please?” he asked, giving them one of his notoriously charming smiles.

 

The paparazzo mumbled an apology and took a step back. Tom’s hand returned to her back and they finally exited the airport. Luke was waiting beside an SUV with darkened windows. Tom shuffled her towards the car, following slightly behind her, trying to put as much distance between the paparazzi and Abby as possible. She climbed into the car and slid along the bench seat in the back, placing Gatsby’s carrier at her feet. Tom followed quickly in suit, and Luke followed.

 

Once they were all safely in the car, leaving the paparazzi with their camera flashes and questions behind, Tom muttered, “Vultures.” The expression on his face was less than pleased.

 

“How’d she do?” Luke asked.

 

“I did fine,” Abby said, a little bothered by the fact that Luke was talking about her like she wasn’t there, “It was a little overwhelming. The only mistake I think I made was when they first approached us, I looked at them, because they took me by surprise.”

 

Luke nodded, not the least bothered by her answering the question rather than Tom. In fact, he seemed pleased by it. “Good, good. Well, there’s no avoiding it now, you guys. Those pictures will be plastered all over the internet by tonight.” Abby sighed just a little on the inside. Luke continued, “Tom, you should be prepared to answer some questions about her on the street. Abby, since we’re really here to support you in the public eye, you should really be prepared for some questions about Tom in any interviews.”

 

She nodded. He took her hand in his, and brushed a gentle kiss to her fingers. Whatever were to happen, she had Tom. She had sense that this was where her life was really beginning.

 

_Welcome to New York._


	23. Somebody Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby googling things she probably shouldn't and a little surprise at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, okay, NEW CHAPTER. Drama drama drama, hints at what's to come! Enjoy, dears. Lotsof love. COMMENTS, KUDOS, BOOKMARKS, all super duper appreciated as is every single reader.

**XXIII**

 

_(April 17 2017; 5 p) NY, NY_

 

Tom and Abby were sitting beside each other on the queen bed of the hotel room. Tom was in the last few pages of his script and Abby was on her laptop. It occurred to her that she would regret what she was about to do. She typed Tom’s name into google. Luke was right. The pictures of them in the airport were already splattered across several gossip sites. If she wanted to back out, now would be the time. She didn’t need to click on any of the links. Before she could stop herself, the pointer drifted over the one for PEOPLE. She clicked. Too late to back out now.

 

There were several pictures of them at the airport. In one of them, she looked like a deer in headlights. Luckily she didn’t look too disheveled after their 8 hour flight. She did kind of have a deer in headlights expression that bothered her, but no changing that. She ignored the article itself, knowing enough from the title that it was about her being Tom’s “mystery woman.” She went to the comments. The damn article, which she noted had only been published an hour ago, had over a hundred comments already.

 

There were a couple hopeful suggestions that she was just a friend, but they were shot down quickly by people who analyzed Tom’s behavior. She kept scanning, chewing her lip nervously for the one thing she hoped they wouldn’t say. But someone did.

 

**Hiddleslove: I know this girl. She’s a poet. Her name is Abigail Callaway. She goes by AJ Callaway when she’s writing and on social media. This is her Instagram. She doesn’t have Facebook as far as I know or twitter. She’s pretty funny, I think. It’s cool to see Tom dating someone who’s almost normal.**

 

She grabbed her phone and opened her Instagram. Her follower count had nearly doubled and she had about fifty direct messages. Some of them pertained to her poetry, but most of them were from Tom’s fangirls. Some of them were mild, kind even, just curious. Some of them were less so, with choice words like “fat,” “hideous,” and “dumb.” It didn’t bother her, but the couple that told her to go kill herself, now those hit a sore spot.

 

“Abby …” Tom’s voice was suspicious, “What are you up to?”

 

“Nothing,” she chirped, in a voice that sounded falsely upbeat even to her.

 

Tom made a humming noise at the back of his throat. All of sudden, he snatched her phone from her. She lunged to grab it. Unfortunately for her – fortunately for him, he was one of the few people she’d met that had longer limbs than her. He held the phone out of reach as he scanned what she’d last been looking at. She realized the pointlessness of trying to take it back now and gave up. Sidling up next to him, she settled herself comfortably at his side.

 

“The photos can’t have been out for more than an hour or two,” he said, “How did they find you so fast?”

 

“You have a very dedicated fan base,” she said, her tone still falsely bright.

 

Tom looked at her, “Why are you reading this shit?”

 

She shrugged, “I was curious. Most of them aren’t that bad … some of them are quite nice even.”

 

Tom gave her skeptical look before returning his attention to her phone. He seemed to relax after reading for a bit. Abby rested her head on his shoulder and waited for him to be finished. Tom wrapped his free arm around her.

 

“Alright, most of them aren’t as bad as the first one I read,” he conceded, handing her phone back to her, “And there are one or two that are … kind.”

 

Abby hummed a reply.

 

“I still don’t understand why you were reading them,” he said.

 

She shifted just a little before replying, “It’s better to know than not know. For me at least. I like an enemy I can see. I’m not one to bury my head in the sand.”

 

“No, you’re not,” Tom said, smiling. He actually liked that about her. She faced everything head on, looking it in the eyes. He pulled her into his lap. His hands went to her shoulders, and he began to knead the muscles there.

 

“We should give them something to talk about,” she murmured.

 

“Should we?” his breath was warm against her ear as he placed a gentle kiss on the shell of it.

 

“Yeah,” she said, “We should go Central Park. I’ve never been.”

 

He pulled back a little, “Really?”

 

“Yeah,” she said, “Every time I’ve been to New York in the past, it was only for a couple days where I was in and out of meetings at Andrews.”

 

“Let’s both freshen up,” he said, “And then we’ll head out.”

 

*******

 

_(April 17 2017; 3p) Boise, ID_

 

He was sitting on the couch doing research for a paper. It caught his eye on the home page to google. Her face. She looked spooked, like a deer in headlights. Before he knew what he was doing, he clicked on the suggested link. It was her. He would recognize those eyes anywhere. The headline was big and bold TOM HIDDLESTON’S MYSTERY GIRL. He scanned the article, his eyes hungrily devouring any information he could get on her.

 

_It seems like Tom is moving on. The Brit actor (Loki!!) was spotted leaving a New York airport, hand in hand with this mystery brunette. There’s some speculation that she is New York Times, best selling author AJ Callaway who is scheduled to make an appearance at the New York Barnes and Noble alongside fellow poets Lang Leav and Rupi Kaur. The couple made their way to an SUV that was waiting for them where Tom quickly made sure she was inside. However, we were able to get a couple candid shots of the two going through the airport. And a video. Some speculate that the two may be just friends, but does this look like the body language of ‘just friends’? I don’t think so. In the video below, when one of the photographers gets a little too close for comfort, Tom steps in and asks them all to back off a little. As usual, he is perfectly polite about it. Does anyone else think she seems a little frazzled by the media attention? But for a relationship with Prince Charming himself, well worth it, wouldn't you say?_

 

He scrolled down to the video and pressed play. The video was shaky because of the handheld camera, and it was difficult to hear over the airport raucous, but that was definitely her. Those eyes, those curls. He caught just a wisp of her voice as she asked Tom a question. Then one of the other paparazzo stepped in front of her, making her stumble. Tom made sure she was alright before addressing them. He gave them a smile, asked them to back up. The video followed them all the way to the SUV where Tom made sure she was inside, before getting inside himself, followed by another blond guy. Then the video cut.

 

She was seeing someone, somebody else. At first, he thought it was all a lie. Maybe he was hallucinating, seeing stuff. He knew it wasn’t though. He didn’t know what he expected. He knew she’d move on eventually, especially after he had pushed her away so hard. He didn’t know what to do. He just knew he had to find her, convince her to come home. This wasn’t at all what he’d imagined it would be like without her. It was like he couldn’t breathe. He’d never say that, but he felt it. He sank into the couch. Who was he kidding? He was miserable.

 

She looked happier though. He didn’t know what it was about her, why he just couldn’t let go of her. He wished he could go back in time and change what he’d done. It was too late to change the past, but he could change the future, his future, their future.

 

He shut his laptop and grabbed his phone. He knew she wouldn’t talk to him, but maybe he could find someone who would.

 

 


	24. Into the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby meets with her agent, editor, and publicist. Then, she Tom and Luke all have dinner together. Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cute chapter before diving back into the drama that will occur later. Gearing up to that with fluff, maybe a smut chapter. Anyways, let me know what you guys think. COMMENTS, KUDOS, BOOKMARKS, etc. are all super duper appreciated as is every reader!!!

**XXIV**

 

_(April 18 2017; 12p) NY, NY_

 

Abby was sitting in the middle of the long table in the meeting room at Andrews. She had just signed over fifty copies of The Bitter Moon so that there would be pre-signed copies for those who couldn’t wait in line for her autograph on the inside cover and a few words with her. Caroline was there, along with David, her editor, and Melanie, her publicist. Melanie was the one person who hadn’t been deeply involved with her until now. Now that word was out that she was dating Tom, that was about to change drastically.

 

Abby had always liked Melanie. The woman always made sure Abby felt like she was being true to herself and helped work out how to present that self to the public. She was a little peeved that Abby hadn’t told her she was seeing Tom earlier, but she was over it quickly. She knew Abby’s relationship history and understood her reluctance to discuss a new relationship. After finding out though, Melanie had gone into overdrive.

 

“There’s a good chance that you’ll be bombarded by Tom’s fans tomorrow,” Melanie stated.

 

“I know,” Abby replied, running her hands through her hair.

 

“Will Tom be there?” she asked.

 

“He’s insistent that he will be,” Abby said, unable to hide the smile on her face.

 

Melanie nodded, “I figured as much.”

 

“Is that an issue?” Abby asked.

 

“We just want to make sure that your fans know that your priority is them,” Melanie said thoughtfully, “If you do end up being bombarded, I think you should make some sort of statement to clarify that.”

 

Abby nodded, “That’s a good idea.”

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” David said, waving his hand, “Do we really want to risk alienating a whole new slue of readers?”

 

“No, but they’re not really readers if they’re there for her boyfriend,” Melanie countered. From anyone else, the statement would have sounded harsh, but Abby knew Melanie was just looking out for her.

 

“Right, but I think we should tread carefully,” David said, “If we play this right, then we could gain a hell of a following.”

 

Melanie nodded, “You’re right. Let’s just make sure we walk this line carefully, because it’s a fine one.”

 

“On the bright side,” Abby said, “I have a surprise for you all. David …”

 

David grinned at Abby, “This girl, she emailed me a 6 am. Attached to that email was a rough draft of Untitled Book 2, along with title propositions, and some art work.”

 

Caroline’s face broke into a grin, “Seriously? Well … if that’s what the London air does for you, we’ll just keep you there.”

 

David passed out packets with about sixty poems, a dozen of which came with art, and a short list of proposed titles. He handed one to Abby too, which was nice because she needed a hard copy. She scanned over the list of titles quickly. They had become familiar to her over the last week because she had put a lot of thought and narrowed it down from fifteen to five.

 

“Mmm … I’m really liking _Warmer Things_ ,” Caroline said, “ _Rising Like the Moon_ has a nice ring to it too, especially considering _The Bitter Moon_.”

 

Abby tapped her fingers against the table, “What I’m not sure about is if I want the two to be connected.”

 

“Why’s that?” Caroline asked.

 

“Well, _The Bitter Moon_ was about the darkness, the broken state Chris left me in when … everything … happened,” she said thoughtfully, her fingers tracing the grain of the wood, “This one … this one is about emerging from the darkness, not letting it own you.”

 

“If that’s the case, I like _Into the Light_ ,” David said, his eyes on the list of titles, “It would say a lot about the book without giving too much away. We could do different parts. The first with the darkest poems, the last one with the ones that are happier.”

 

“Oh, I like that,” Caroline said, nodding at David.

 

“You’ll be here for two weeks, right?” David asked, rubbing his chin.

 

Abby nodded.

 

“I’ll get right on commissioning the cover art,” David said, “Try and get it done by the time you leave. Any thoughts?”

 

With _The Bitter Moon_ , she had told them to do whatever because she just wanted to be through with the book. It carried so much of the poison Chris had bled into her. That’s not to say she didn’t love her book and wasn’t proud of it, but in those first few weeks, when she had still been talking to him, it was too raw. Like alcohol on an infected sore. This time around, she planned to be much more involved.

 

“Actually, yeah,” she said, “If we’re going with _Into the Light_ , I was thinking a watercolor background, starting almost black at the top and fading in shades of gray to white at the bottom. The title in big typewriter Italics in white font at the top, and then my name in black of the same font at the bottom.”

 

David shrugged, “Simple, but attention grabbing. Maybe not typewriter font though, that may clash. Maybe we do it with a painted handwriting look.”

 

“Why don’t we try both, then compare?” Abby said, “I think the contrast might be nice with the typewriter font.”

 

David nodded, “Alright then, well, this meeting is adjourned then. We’ll see you at nine tomorrow morning.”

 

Abby smiled as she gathered up her backpack and the packet of papers, “Thanks you guys. See you tomorrow.”

 

She left the meeting room. When she got to the lobby of the building, she went outside. The sky was heavy with thick cottony storm clouds. She hailed a cab, climbed inside, and gave the name of the hotel they were staying at. The drive was short, but took longer than it should have because of Manhattan traffic. As they pulled up in front of the hotel, she pressed the cash in the cab driver’s hand, making sure to leave him an extra ten for a tip.

 

When she reached the hotel room, it was empty. Tom was nowhere to be found. Slightly disappointed, Abby stripped out of her business clothes and pulled on some more comfortable clothes, a loose white t-shirt and some low slung joggers. Right as she pulled the joggers over her hips, Tom and Luke burst through the door of the hotel room, laughing hysterically.

 

“Darling!” Tom exclaimed when he saw her, a happy smile on his face, “I thought you’d be at least another hour!”

 

“We covered everything,” she replied with a smile, “I was more organized this time around. Did you boys have fun without me?”

 

Tom pulled her into his arms and pressed a chaste kiss against her lips, “Not as much fun as I would have had with you.”

 

She hummed and rested her head against his shoulder, “I like that answer.”

 

“I speak only the truth,” he murmured against her hair.

 

Abby pulled out of Tom’s embrace, “Are you busy, Luke?”

 

“No, why?” he said.

 

“I was thinking of getting some takeout,” she said, “There’s a Chinese place within walking distance that I got last time I was here. Does that interest you guys? It looks like it might rain anyways.”

 

“That sounds great, actually,” Luke said, “It would give me an opportunity to get to know you better. Does that sound good to you Tom?”

 

“I’m game,” Tom said, “I’ll walk with you, darling.”

 

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I’m going to grab my jacket.”

 

She went to the closet and pulled out her thick black North Face and slipped on her rubber Chelsea boots. When she rejoined Tom’s side, he took her hand and brushed a kiss against her knuckles.

 

“We’ll be back, Luke,” Tom said, “You can wait here if that’s more convenient. Text me what you want, mate.”

 

The couple headed out. Abby lead Tom a block or two up street where a little hole in the wall Chinese restaurant was tucked under some ramshackle apartments. The snap was what alerted them first. Tom looked behind them, and immediately his hand went to her back.

 

“Paps?” Abby asked quietly.

 

Tom just nodded, the tick of irritation in his jaw was answer enough though. They pushed into the Chinese place, Tom following Abby, trying to shield her from the camera’s as much as possible. She knew he was worried about her, and that was the main reason he was irritated. She knew they’d have to talk about that. She needed to find a way to approach it without making it seem like she was unappreciative of his protectiveness.

 

“What do you want, love?” his voice was warm, but had a note of tenseness and his eyes kept straying to look out the windows.

 

“A family size of Hot and Sour soup,” she said, “And some pot stickers.”

 

Tom made their order and they took a seat together at a table. Tom took her hands and held them, his thumb making small circles on the tops of them.

 

“Y’know Tom, the paps don’t bother me so much,” she said with a small shrug.

 

“Why do you say that, darling?” he asked.

 

“I just … I see how worried you are about me and how upset they make you,” she said, “And, honestly, I’m okay. I love that you want to protect me, but I think it’s stressing you out unduly.”

 

Tom believed her. She valued honesty too much for that. Tension seemed to leak from him, leaving him more relaxed. He was more comfortable knowing she was okay with handling the paparazzi. It warmed his heart to know that she was worried for him and cared that he seemed stressed.

 

“Okay,” he said, “Just give me the word if you’re even a little uncomfortable.”

 

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.

 

“How did your meeting go today?” Tom asked.

 

“Really well,” she said with a smile, “But I’ll tell you more about that back at the hotel. How was your day?”

 

He smiled, “Good, Luke and I walked through Central Park and chatted, then we grabbed lunch at this neat little Brazilian place.”

 

A little Chinese woman waddled up to them with two bags of mouth-watering smelling food. The couple thanked her and headed back into the worsening weather. It had started to rain while they waited for their food. Abby pulled the hood of her jacket up and zipped it up to her chin. They hurried back towards the hotel, taking a couple back routes to lose the paparazzi who not-so-subtly followed them from a distance. Luckily, they managed to lose them by doubling back after ducking into a tiny shop with miscellaneous things as a crowd walked past, courtesy of Abby’s quick thinking.

 

They watched the paparazzi hurry past at a semi-jog, Abby and Tom giggling together at their frustrated faces. Abby looked around the shop, taking in the jewelry and little signs with funny quips. They left the shop once they were sure the paps had gone and made a beeline for the hotel.

 

When they got back to the room, grinning like a couple of idiots, the two of them went up to their hotel room. Luke was sitting on the floor in sweats and a t-shirt, scrolling through his phone when they opened the door.

 

“That smells delightful,” Luke said, “And the pictures of you two picking it up have already made the rounds.”

 

“Course they have,” Abby replied, “They don’t have anything better to do.”

 

She shrugged out of her jacket and pulled her shoes off. Then, taking the bags of food from Tom with a kiss, she dropped to the floor next to Luke. Tom went and changed into sweats and a t-shirt as well. While he was gone, Abby divided up the food according to whose was whose. The potstickers and eggrolls she set in the middle for everyone to pick out of. She sat cross legged next to Luke.

 

“How did your meeting go?” Luke asked, setting his phone down.

 

“I’ll wait for Tom,” she said, “He was asking too.”

 

“I’m here, darling,” Tom pressed a kiss to her neck and then scooted to sit beside her and across from Luke so they formed a lopsided little circle.

 

“Excellent!” she said, “It went really well. We talked over tomorrow a little bit, about what to do if we end up getting bombarded by Hiddlestoners.”

 

“Yeah?” Luke said.

 

“We want to make it really clear that my fans and the people who are there for me, are my priority,” she said, “Without alienating any potential fans that are already your fans.”

 

“Makes sense,” Luke said through a mouthful of Chow Mein that smelled spicy.

 

“We also picked a title for my new book and discussed potential cover art,” she said.

 

“What title did you end up picking?” Tom asked.

 

“ _Into the Light_ ,” she said, “I’m actually really excited. Throughout _The Bitter Moon_ , I wasn’t much a part of the publishing process or even the creative process – aside from the writing that is – just because it was a really difficult time for me. This time around, I’m able to be much more apart of everything.”

 

“Well, congratulations,” Luke said, as Tom pressed a kiss to her cheek, “Are you excited about tomorrow?”

 

She nodded, “Really nervous too though.”

 

Tom took her hand and squeezed. He was always there for her, supporting her, loving her. Even when she kept things from him. He understood. He loved her. She was glad they’d picked the name _Into the Light_ , because that was exactly where she had gone.

 


	25. Importance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby has her signing at Barnes and Noble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh ... okay ... long chapter but full of fluff with a drop or two of angst. And ... a bit more teasing at the end. I hope you guys like it! Lots of love! COMMENTS, KUDOS, BOOKMARKS, are all really appreciated as is every reader! I love hearing from you guys!

**XXV**

 

_(April 19 2017; 9am) NY, NY_

 

Luke and Melanie were two peas in a pod. All of Luke’s what ifs were shot down in about a minute by the confident woman. Abby was a little bit in awe by the end of it. She’d never heard anyone, not even Tom who was good at calming Luke’s nerves, manhandle him like that. Then again, she didn’t know Luke terribly well. It was still an impressive feat, she was sure.

 

She and Tom, along with their entourage, had been at Barnes and Noble talking with the employees for over an hour as they set up the stage. She had signed a couple of their copies of _The Bitter Moon_ and had helped them set up the long tables that they had decked out with green table cloths and white table runners. Tom had helped with moving the tables and was carrying chairs and things. For their part, the employees were insistent that the two didn’t need to help.

 

When the tables were set up, Abby and Tom stood with Luke and Melanie against the back wall. Tom’s arm was leisurely around Abby’s shoulders and she couldn’t help but lean into him. He looked great in well-fitting jeans, a tight white v-neck t-shirt, and a charcoal pea coat.

 

“You guys look every inch the hopelessly in love couple,” Luke commented.

 

“That’s a good thing,” Melanie said, “Stops people from saying she’s a gold digger or whatever nonsense they’ll come up with.”

 

Luke pointed at her, “You’re right.”

 

Tom pressed a kiss to Abby’s temple, causing her to smile, “We are hopelessly in love.”

 

“Do we know when they open?” Luke asked.

 

“10 am,” Melanie replied, “Rupi and Lang should be here any minute.”

 

As he spoke, the two women appeared, both carrying a couple bags. They stopped when they reached the group. Abby shifted out of Tom’s embrace. All three women broke into grins. They’d never met before, but there was a sort of connection between them. Lang and Rupi had met on several occasions and deeply enjoyed each other’s company. Abby was just adding more fuel to the fire.

 

“Hi,” she said, “I’m Abby. You guys must be Lang and Rupi.”

 

“Yes! Hello! It’s so exciting to finally meet you,” Rupi gushed, “God, I picked up _The Bitter Moon_ from Andrews a couple months back on an impulse and it’s one of the most moving collections I’ve ever read! You so earned that bestseller title!”

 

“Thank you!” Abby said, grinning, “Honestly, _Milk and Honey_ is one of the best books I’ve ever read. There’s such a raw honesty to it. It’s a work of art! Same thing with _Sad Girls_ , Lang.”

 

Rupi grinned, “Let’s get set up at the front table.”

 

“I’ll grab your things, darling,” Tom said, pecking her quickly on the lips.

 

“Oh, this is my boyfriend, Tom,” Abby said.

 

Rupi looked a little in awe for a second, and as Tom was walking away she whispered, “Wow.”

 

Abby laughed and nodded, “I know, right?”

 

The three women walked to the front of the store together. At the table, Abby took the far left where a stack of The Bitter Moon had been set up for her. Rupi took the middle and Lang took the far right. When they looked out the front doors, a crowd had already formed. It was a little nerve-wracking.

 

“Wow,” Rupi let out, “That’s quite the crowd. That have something to do with your boyfriend?”

 

Abby shrugged, “Probably. Our relationship sort of came to their attention a couple days ago … it’s been wild.”

 

Rupi looked impressed, “I bet. The transition must have been strange.”

 

“It was a little,” Abby said, “But it wasn’t too bad because I’d been anticipating it.”

 

Tom appeared with Abby’s bag. It held her iPod, a cushion for her seat, a water bottle, some snacks, and a few other odds and ends. As he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, a tsunami of screaming began outside the doors. Abby almost winced. She didn’t know how many of them were there for Tom, but she hoped it wasn’t too many. Tom gave a small wave and a charming smile before wandering off to find Luke.

 

Abby and Rupi chatted amiably about their lives with Lang. The petite woman seemed a little more shy than either Rupi or Abby so they went out of their way to make sure she was included in the conversation, a fact she seemed to appreciate.

 

At 10 am, one of the employees walked to the front doors and unlocked it. It started as a flood, just a wave of people, pushing and jostling their way to the table. An amalgam of all types of people, old, young, every ethnicity you could imagine. They went straight for the table and started lining up. The first person to appear in front of her was a middle-aged woman with short blond hair and sparkling blue eyes.

 

“Hey,” Abby said, “How are you?”

 

“I’m really good,” her voice was bubbly, warm, “I’ve been so excited to meet you since you announced this.”

 

She handed Abby a worn and well-read copy of _The Bitter Moon_ , “I know it’s a bit tattered, but I really wanted you to sign this one. This book helped me get out of an abusive relationship and … I just needed it to be … this one … y’know?”

 

As she signed the book, Abby replied, “I do. It’s kind of a messy complicated thing, healing. Sometimes we don’t always know the whys or hows, we just know.”

 

The woman grinned as Abby handed her book back, “Exactly. Thank you so much.”

 

“Of course,” Abby let out. And that was it. She had signed copies of her book before, but this was somehow different. This person, they had a story, and her book had fundamentally changed that story for the better. She had not only managed to pull Chris’s poison from her, but change it into something that healed. It knocked the breath from her, how far she’d come.

 

After that first person, she made it through a dozen other people before meeting someone who was there, really, for Tom. Or a group of someones. A gaggle of teen girls, each with a brand new copy of her book approached the table, giggling and pushing. They were all pretty. Clearly, a lot of effort had been put into getting dolled up.

 

“Hi,” one of them said.

 

“Hi, how are you guys?” Abby asked, a smile on her face. She didn’t mind them. She remembered being that way, however briefly.

 

“We’re awesome!” the girl said, handing Abby their stack of books, “We were just wondering if Tom’s here. We heard that he was.”

 

“He’s here somewhere,” Abby said, “He’s so sweet for coming.” She said moving through the four books. “He’s really supportive.”

 

“I bet!” the girl said, “Thank you! I think you’re really cool by the way!”

 

One of the other girls shot her a dirty look, but they were gone quickly enough. She was the only one who wasn’t carrying a book. The rest of the morning went smoothly, with only a few more people who were there – at least blatantly – for Tom and all of them were fairly nice. They all bought copies of her book at least. It wasn’t until they broke for lunch and came back for the two hour Q&A that there was an … incident.

 

They were only a few minutes in, with Abby and Rupi bearing the brunt of the questions. They were all standing in front of the table, leaning against it, with microphones attached to their tops. The microphones fed into a small speaker system the employees had set up. People were crowded around on all sides.

 

“What inspires you to write?” a young man, Abby’s age probably, asked.

 

“So many things,” Rupi gushed, “I don’t think to give a definitive answer would be accurate.”

 

Abby nodded, “Everything inspires me to write. Some things, obviously, more than others. But everything does. Say I take a liking to a rose in a supermarket, that rose might place itself in the forefront of my mind so when I’m looking for a flower to put in a poem, that rose would be the flower. To give only one thing would be an insult to everything around me. It’s kind of a trickle down.”

 

“I couldn’t have said it better,” Lang added with a quiet smile.

 

One of the girls from earlier raised their hand. Abby pointed her. She knew it was going to be something about Tom, but she didn’t mind that. She understood that they were a little protective, if not possessive, of him.

 

“How did you and Tom meet?” she asked.

 

“We met … well, we live really close together, so we frequent a lot of the same shops, and he just … came up to me and started talking one day,” Abby said, “And we clicked. And it all sort of fell into place.”

 

She was smiling, a dazed daydream smile. But it was wiped off her face the next instant. Someone, the girl who gave the dirty look earlier, if he wasn’t mistaken, shouted, “You don’t deserve him. Go jump off a bridge!” Abby visibly winced. Almost like she’d been slapped. The whole room fell silent, other than the odd noises of people shuffling and coughing. Abby took a breath, to steady herself.

 

She looked up, “Honestly, I’m surprised you said that without a username to hide behind.” A titter ran through the crowd, at her bland tone and wry smile, “For the record, saying that to someone who’s tried is kind of frowned upon.” She leaned more heavily against the table and picked up a copy of her book, “I ... wrote this book because I needed something … anything … to get through it all. And I wanted to give other people something for the same reason.” She fell silent for a moment, “You may not like me, and that’s fine. That’s your prerogative, despite the fact that all you know about me is that I’m dating your fantasy boyfriend. But … be careful … what you say to people. Because it cuts, and it burns, and it smolders. And you might think nothing of it, but they will. Tom … makes me happy … and everyone deserves to be happy. All of the people, who gave me words of kindness, who showed me the importance of who I am, what I do, what I’ve given them, are important to me. They make me happy. Even if they only came to see Tom originally, but they decided to give me a chance.” She paused for a moment, “But you’re not important to me. Be careful what you say to people, because you might say the wrong thing to someone who thinks you are.” She fell quiet again for a few moments, “Next question please.”

 

And they moved on. She felt a different kind of respect form then. Like all the people who had showed up for Tom, had a newfound well of acceptance and respect for her. It warmed her heart, banishing the words of that one girl from her mind. She was just happy she didn’t burst out in tears.

 

The rest of the Q&A went well beyond her wildest imagination. The questioned ranged from sweet ones about her and Tom to “Who is the Chris your book is dedicated to?” to which she threw up a peace sign alongside an uncomfortable smile, and said, “My ex husband. Next question.” All in all, it blew Abby’s mind. When it was over, Abby made her way to the back of the store where Tom was waiting, surrounded by a good twenty or so people. They parted like water for her.

 

“Hello darling,” Tom said with a smile as she made it to his line of vision.

 

“Hello,” Abby said, her voice warm and full of teasing, “I see you’ve been holding court back here.”

 

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into his side before pressing a kiss to her temple, “Of course. Would you expect anything less of Loki?”

 

The girls in the group seemed to melt at the exchange, with sighs and squeals. Abby smiled at them and waved. One of the Barnes and Noble employees opened the door to the break room behind them and motioned for them to come in.

  
“That’s our cue,” Tom said with a charming smile, “Thanks for coming, you guys. And for showing my girlfriend so much love and support.”

 

They followed the employee, Sarah, into the break room. Tom knew she was the store’s manager. He’d chatted with her briefly while Abby and Rupi were getting settled before the store opened. As the door closed behind them, Sarah couldn’t keep the grin off her face.

 

“So … we sold every copy of _The Bitter Moon_ we had in store, that’s fifty-two,” she said, “Plus, every copy Andrews shipped over yesterday. That’s two hundred even. Plus, we had a hundred and six orders for the people who couldn’t buy the book because we ran out. That’s three hundred and fifty eight.”

 

“Seriously?” Abby breathed.

 

“Yeah,” she said, “And we’re expecting a swell at our other stores too. We just wanted to let you know before you left.”

 

“Thank you. That means a lot to me,” Abby said, “And thank you for hosting us today. You guys worked so hard.”

 

“No, thank you for coming,” Sarah said, “It’s done wonders for our store. And you guys have been a pleasure. If you’re ever in town again, feel free to drop by.”

 

“Thank you,” Abby said, “I guess we’ll head out now.”

 

The couple left the room and went back into the store. There were still a huge amount of people in the store, but they mostly left the two alone. Whether that was because they just didn’t notice or they were trying to respect their privacy, Abby didn’t know.

 

Luke and Melanie were waiting out front next to the same SUV that had picked them up from the airport. Abby slid into the back first, followed by Tom, then Melanie. Luke took the front. Once the doors were shut and they began driving away, discussion came out in full force.

 

“You did brilliantly,” Luke stated, “Especially, when that one girl spoke. You handled yourself with dignity. You didn’t get angry or even unkind, but you were honest. You made it clear that Tom and your fans were what was important to you, without alienating Tom’s fans.”

 

Melanie nodded with a smile, “I couldn’t be more proud.”

 

Abby blushed, “Thanks you guys. And … thank you for being there. It means a lot.”

 

Melanie and Luke exchanged looks, before Melanie said, “I also have something for you to consider in LA. UCLA was wondering if you would come speak for them. It’s sponsored by TED talks too.”

 

“Really?” Abby asked. She knew TED talks were a big deal, especially for someone like her. She must have done something really right career wise to be doing something like this, “I’d love too.”

 

“Good. I’ll give them a call and let them know,” she said, “And then we’ll talk times and dates.”

 

“I say we celebrate your success with a drink,” Tom said, “Are you guys up for it?”

 

There was a round of consensus. Tom knew, he had nothing to do with her success, but he felt a deep-seated sense of pride in how much she had accomplished. He wanted nothing more than to hold her to him for a few hours, but that would have to be saved for later. He took her hand instead, and pressed her fingers to his lips.

 

“I love you,” he said.

 

“I love you,” she replied, warmth and joy evident in her tone.

 

*******

  
_(April 19 2017; 11 am) Boise, ID_

 

Was it wrong that he had google alerted her name? He wasn’t sure. But when the notification came through, his heart leapt. This was the day of her signing. Maybe he’d get something more than a few shoddy pictured of her and her boytoy picking up Chinese. His instinct was right. TOM HIDDLESTON’S GIRLFRIEND IS THE BEST AND HERE’S WHY was the headline, big and bold.

 

_Tom Hiddleston’s girlfriend is the best. Today she had a book signing at a Barnes and Noble in Manhattan. Along with the huge amount of people who were just there for her, there were many people who showed up hoping to catch a glimpse of the Brit actor. She handled it all with grace and ease. But there’s one moment in particular that jumps out at me, caught all on video. During the Q &A the three writers did, one of Tom Hiddleston’s fans shouted ‘You don’t deserve him. Go jump off a bridge.’ Instead of becoming irate, the young poet simply warned her to be careful who she said that to. You can hear the whole speech below. Honestly, we need more people like her._

 

He opened the video. And the only thing he could think was _that’s her. That’s my Abby._

 


	26. The Devil Comes A-Knocking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly filler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Suffering from MAJOR writer's block, just wanted to do something to kind of knead the knot out which succeeded. The next chapter, I think, is coming along much better. Angsty. But not too angsty. Trust me, Angst village is just up ahead. Enjoy! BOOKMARKS, KUDOS, COMMENTS, all really appreciate and so is every reader! Lots of love.

**XXVI**

 

_(May 2 2017; 6am)_

 

Abby woke tangled amongst the white sheets of Tom’s LA apartment. Tom was nowhere to be seen. She sat up, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, and stretched. The California weather left the room balmy, but somewhat stifling compared to London and New York. She slid out of bed, her feet hitting the warm wooden floor.

 

News about their relationship was in full swing with every gossip column and magazine scrambling to get as many pictures, predictions, and assumptions out there as possible. Abby got used to it in their remaining time in New York, time that slipped by faster than she would have liked. It meant she was one step closer to being in Seattle and she wasn’t sure she was prepared for that. There were a lot of memories in Seattle, a flood of things she had no desire to face, people she had no desire to face.

 

Abby made her way to the kitchen, trying not to get lost in the thoughts that were already trying to consume her. Tom wasn’t there either, which meant he must have been out. She set about making herself some tea. Unfortunately for her, Tom’s fridge was empty, scraped clean by a team of professionals who had cleaned his apartment after his last stay. She’d have to go out and get some food. Some fresh air would be nice anyways.

 

Taking her time, Abby showered and threw on some clothes. Black skinny jeans, a tight black crop top, and a blue grey velvet ball cap, tied together with a pair of blue-grey pumps. She almost never wore make-up, but because it was LA and she didn’t want to be shredded for every flaw if she was caught without it, she put on a thin layer of foundation, some mascara, and a bit of all natural lip tint. Not a lot, but enough to keep the gossip columns off her ass.

 

She packed a backpack with her leather-bound, art pens, laptop, wallet, and water bottle, tossing all but the water bottle in haphazardly. The water bottle she slipped in the side pocket.

 

Gatsby was curled up on top of the couch, in a pile of throw blankets he’d claimed for himself. When Tom had tried to move him last night, he’d hissed and spat, eventually leading to Tom giving up. The cat never would have done anything, which was what made it funny. Well, that and Tom’s reaction when she flounced over and picked up Gatsby, and dropped into the spot Tom had been trying to get. She was pretty sure she’d irked him more than the cat, which had only caused her to grin.

 

Abby scratched Gatsby behind the ears for a moment, made sure he had plenty of food and water, and then decided to head out. It occurred to her once she was out the door that she had no idea where she was going, but she liked to explore new cities, her inter-urban adventures as she called them. She checked her phone before advancing down the hall of the apartment building. She had texts. Lots of them. Tom was one of the texters. She sighed internally, and decided to just respond to Tom and deal with the others after she had found a place to settle down for the day.ˋ

 

**Tom: Darling, auditioning for a role. May not be home until late. I love you so much.**

 

She shot him a quick reply, stuffed her phone in her bag, and headed to the elevator that would take her down to the lobby. She made her way out of the building and into the bright LA light. She lifted her face to the sky, relishing the warm sunlight. She walked for a good few blocks before stumbling across a little coffee shop. It was a little industrial looking hipster place, just her speed.

 

After ordering a mocha, she settled into a booth that was empty and began scrolling through the texts. There was a few from her mom, one from her aunt, one from an unknown number, and one from David. She decided to handle her mom first.

 

**Mom: You need to call me ASAP.**   
**Mom: Seriously. Or I’ll kick your ass.**   
**Mom: You’re dating Tom Hiddleston!**   
**Mom: We need to talk!!!**

 

She replied quickly, **I’ll call you tonight. I promise. And explain. Yes, we’re dating. And we’ll be in Seattle in a week for about a week.**

 

**Kelsey: You're dating Loki!?**

 

She ignored that one and moved onto the unknown number.

 

**888-252-6178: hello?**

 

She replied, **hello?**

 

Then she went onto David’s message.

 

**David: Emailed you the final cover, girlie. Text me and let me know what you think.**

 

She set up her laptop. As it powered on, she checked her phone for any replies, but there were none. She checked her email. An email from David was the most recent thing she’s received. She opened it up. Attached was a jpeg that she promptly opened. It was the cover. In a navy blue, so dark it was almost black, fading in shades of grey to white. The words into the light written in white chalk in all lowercase with her name written in the same style in black at the bottom. She was overwhelmed by how great it was.

 

She texted David, **Perfect! Can I post it to ig?**

 

David: No problem. And I think that would be great!

 

She posted the picture with the caption _okay … so … announcement_. Within a few seconds, it already had a hundred likes. She was grinning at the enthusiastic response she’d received from her fans when her phone started ringing with the same unknown number that texted her earlier. She answered the phone, a happy grin splitting her face. You could practically see the glow of happiness.

 

“Abby …” someone, someone she knew breathed.

 

Her stomach plummeted, and her breathing became quick and shallow, suddenly the coffee shop, that was previously so comfortable, felt cramped and too small, her throat constricted, and she couldn’t see very well. She didn’t think she could make it back to the apartment. She didn’t think she could move.

 

“I know you blocked me,” he said, “But please, please listen. Please, I – I need –“

 

“Shut up,” the hiss left her mouth before she could stop it. It was harsh and cold, “Do not call me ever again. Do not contact me again. I don’t want to be speaking to you ever again.

 

“Abby please –“

 

She ended the call. She sat until the sun began to go down, staring catatonically at the wall. She didn’t move, couldn’t move. When the waitresses began closing up the little hop, with trembling hands she picked up her phone. She had six missed texts from Tom. What time was it? 8 pm. Shit, time really flew. He was probably worried sick.

 

**Tom: Darling on my way home. Love you.**   
**Tom: Where are you at, princess?**   
**Tom: Love?**   
**Tom: Darling, this isn’t funny.**   
**Tom: Baby, where are you?**   
**Tom: Darling, please reply. I need you to answer. Are you alright? Are you upset with me? Please, just let me know you’re okay. Please. I love you.**

 

Abby bit back a stab of guilt that cut right through her gut and replied, **Tom, can you come pick me up? I’m outside Terra Coffee House**.

 

In less than five minutes, Tom whipped into the parking lot in his rental Ferrari. It was black and he looked delectable, his broad hands gripping the wheel. The anger was written in the lines of his face, the pinch of his mouth. Abby swallowed, slinging her backpack more comfortably over her back. Tom pulled up in front of, the car coming to an abrupt halt in front of her. She opened the door and slid inside. Tom shot her an angry glare.

 

“He called me from a burner number,” Abby said, her voice hoarse and flat, “I hung up on him and told him never to contact me again. I have a bad feeling though. Anyways, I just, I couldn’t process it. I’ve been sitting there for hours. I’m really sorry I didn’t get back to you … I just … I kind of just froze.” Her voice cracked as she whispered, “I was afraid.”

 

“Darling …” he said, his voice gentle, “I love you. It’s going to be okay. Let’s just go home, love. You can talk to me.”

 

Why is it that Chris always crawled back into her life like a bad memory of something she really wished she could forget. He didn’t love her. Not after everything he’d said and done. She was more reluctant that ever to head back up to Seattle. She cursed herself for suggesting it. She could do it. She just had the TED talk at the end of the week, then just one week left for Seattle, before she could go back home to London. She could make it through.

 

 


	27. I Am Not a Wasteland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby's appearance at UCLA atc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really much to say this time around. Things have been really hard lately. Life has not been easy or kind so I'm just trying to keep my nose clean and my chin up. Thus the slower updates. OH! Next chapetr will either be whole or partial smut. Anyways. COMMENTS, KUDOS, BOOKMARKS, etc all super duper appreciated as is every reader. Lots of love. XO Ghost

**XXVII**

 

_(May 5 2017; 3p) LA, California_

 

Abby walked to the forefront of the stage in the massive auditorium at UCLA. The show was completely sold out, to the point where there were people standing in the back because they ran out of seats. She looked at the golden overhead light before allowing her eyes to trail over the crowd, giving the idea that she was looking at each member of the audience individually. She said nothing for a long time, just looking over the sea of faces, pacing the stage back and forth. Just as the silence was about to become uncomfortable instead of suspenseful, she opened her mouth.

 

“I am not a wasteland,” she said, firmly, projecting into the echoing room, then more quietly, “I am not a wasteland.” She stood still for a moment, “I have been though. The rivers of kindness ran dry within me, the fertile lush grasslands of knowledge went barren, the rich blue sky of hope tarnished itself against an empty horizon until nothing was left but the gray sky, the gray earth, nothing but ceaseless gray. I was a wasteland of insecurity, hopelessness. How does one recover from that? Being so full, and then all at once being nothing, feeling nothing. I had to learn to love myself again, love who I am, who I’ve been, and who I have yet to be. So I took time off, and moved to a distant city, and I ran my hands through the dry river beds, and sifted my fingers through the acidic dirt. I looked to the melancholy sky and reached for the heavens. Telling myself, the whole while, ‘it will be okay’. And that’s how you live in an unkind world, that’s how you thrive in cities without life support, that’s how you build a home within yourself when everyone else tries to condemn it. We live in a world where that’s okay. We were born into the low-tolerancy-for-softness generation.” She fell silent again, looking into the crowd that watched her with bated breath. The lights, so bright she could feel their warmth, followed her as she paced the stage.

 

Her eye caught on a face, a familiar face. What was Tom doing there? She thought he had an audition today. He was sitting in the very front to the left of the stage in a ball cap and sunglasses. As if that ever actually worked. She almost snorted, but restrained herself. Tom noticed her gaze and grinned, giving a cheesy thumbs up. Her eyes narrowed a fraction of a centimeter. She walked to the other end of the stage.

 

“Once upon a time, it feels like a lifetime ago, I was living a lie. My mom and step-dad were that ridiculously traditional Catholic family with a million kids. My step-dad’s dad was the church coordinator, his mom the church secretary. We would go to church and smile and sing hymns to the holy trinity. But behind closed doors, things were different. My parents were alcoholics, they abused me, and they used me to raise their children. I don’t say this to condemn them. I don’t say this for pity. I don’t want pity. I say this for perspective. So many people get sucked into the cycle of abuse. I was for a long time, but that’s a story for another day. But one day, I woke up and realized that I was no better than them. I was no better than the very people I fought desperately to escape. In that moment, I changed. Something inside me, a seed in winter, bloomed.”

 

Tom watched his girlfriend speak on the stage. Her make-up was flawlessly done. Sweeping eyeliner, burnt gold eyeshadow, deep russet lips, her high slanted cheekbones were dusted with something that seemed to make them glow. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her wear that much make-up ever. She was stunning normally, but she almost looked otherworldly standing on the stage. She talked about things he couldn’t possibly understand, a life he’d never lived. It was never ‘oh poor me’. It was ‘this happened and it is why I am the way I am’. She was silent for another minute.

 

It occurred to Tom that he didn’t know much of her childhood. The bare minimum really. Essentially, he knew what she’d said up on that stage with maybe a few other select details. And that bothered him deeply. He made a reminder to himself to ask about that later. When he tuned back in, she was speaking again.

 

“I am not a wasteland,” she continued into the receptive silent, nothing but the sound of breathing and her voice carrying through the theater, “But people have tried to forge me into one. Filling the universe within me with broken promises, and angry fists, and a constant feed of raging words. But little did they know I’ve made promises to myself, I have gentle hands to freeze the fists in their tracks, and I have words living under my skin that push out the unwanted words ringing in my head. Kindness is the key. If there is not one person being kind, than overflow yourself with kindness. Honesty is the key. If no one is being honest, than bare the truth like it’s the only thing you know. Like you haven’t know deceit, hateful people living lies. Live in honesty. Live in kindness. Otherwise you’ll waste away into a toxic wasteland, poisoning everyone and everything around you. When you are entrenched with darkness and no one else will, be the light. Let kindness run rivers inside you, let rolling fields of knowledge take root, let the sky full of hope clear. Let yourself love and be loved. My way of loving myself is through the writing I do. Find yours. Be soft with people who are soft with you. That’s the only way you’ll hold onto what makes you human. Don’t be a wasteland. You can be so much more.” She paused, her gaze flickering across the crowd. “Thank you for having me UCLA. As you guys exit the hall, volunteers will be distributing copies of a handwritten piece of poetry on a background of original art, each signed.”

 

Applause shook around them, though Tom would argue he was loudest of all. He was so damn proud of her. She bowed her head before turning and walking off the stage, disappearing behind the heavy black curtain.

 

*******

 

_(May 5 2017; 7p) LA, California_

 

Back at the apartment, evening began to draw near, the blue blue sky deepening into something more violet. Deep pink hues, and glorious soft oranges painting the crust of the sinking sun. Tom was singing loudly and unapologetically the greatest hits of 00s – a playlist Tom listened to more often than he wanted to admit – as he washed a medley of veggies for the stir-fry he was preparing for the two of them.

 

“Do you like peppers, love!?” he called from the kitchen.

 

“Anything but bell peppers!” she hollered back.

 

She poked her head around the corner, the make-up from earlier still on her face, and smiled sweetly, too sweetly. Tom knew she wanted something. She slid into the kitchen, trying far too hard to appear innocent. She definitely wanted something. Tom turned towards her, an eyebrow raised in question. She approached him, leaning against her chin, imploring him with big puppy dog eyes.

 

“Tom, while I love you to pieces,” she said, her tone absolutely sugary, “I don’t love your music taste as much. So can I, pretty please, change Kelly Clarkson. Even if this is from when she was relevant?”

 

Tom looked mildly affronted, his blue eyes slightly widened, “What are you talking about? Kelly Clarkson is still relevant.”

 

Abby raised her eyebrows at him, “Not since ’05 babe. Please, can I DJ for awhile?”

 

“Well, missy, quite high maintenance today, aren’t we?” Tom purred, sweeping his arm around her and pulling her flush against his chest.

 

Abby leaned up, and ran a finger from his ear to his adam’s apple, just under his jaw. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to the shell of his ear and whispered, ”What if we did something … fun … tonight … you’re choice.”

 

Tom swallowed thickly, his body humming in response to her insinuations, “I’d be inclined to give you what you wanted.”

 

She smiled and kissed him, her teeth gently catching on his lower lip, leaving him breathless when she pulled away and hauled herself onto the counter. Her legs dangled as she sifted through his phone for something that was – in her opinion – tolerable. Tom stared at her, resisting the urge to just have it out on the kitchen floor. She glanced up at him for a moment, her eyes knowing, and grinned wickedly, a grin that had Tom almost groaning on the floor.

 

“So … if my music is unacceptable, what will you playing?” Tom asked, clearing the thickness from his voice halfway through.

 

“Not sure yet,” she said, “Leaning towards something dance-y and catchy because that’s what you seem to like. Maybe some Astrid S or The 1975.”

 

Tom shook his head, both those names flying over his head, “Something I can sing to would be appreciated.”

 

She saluted him, “Aye aye captain.”

 

Tom stopped what he was doing and just stared deadpan at her, “Little much, darling.”

 

She giggled, “Sure? Are you sure you don’t want me calling you captain the next time we make love? O! Captain! My Captain!”

 

Tom shook his head, “You’re ridiculous.”

 

She shrugged, “Wouldn’t be half as fun if I was gray and rainy all the time.”

 

She picked a song, the burst of upbeat pop flowing from his little pill speaker. It was dance-y and upbeat as promised with clear simple vocals. He had to admit that the song was mixed a bit better than the typical fare from his 00s mix. Just a bit though. Soon Tom was belting out the song with Abby, their voices blending and meshing along with their giggles at their mistakes. At one point, Abby hopped off the counter and started dancing. Which, Tom discovered very quickly, she was terrible at. She was far too clumsy, too much leg, not enough arm. Oh boy, did that not stop her though. She danced with the joy of a five year old, flailing around like an awkward flamingo – minus the whole balance thing. When the song was over, Abby chose another. And so on until dinner was ready. Then the two sat in the living room at the coffee table.

 

As they settled into the couch, Tom decided now would be as good a time as any to ask about her childhood, her parents in particular. What exactly went on between them. They must still be in contact if Abby was willing to visit them. Though she had insisted on not staying with them. Instead, she paid for an airbnb for a week. She had been adamantly against staying with them. To the point of it being almost non-negotiable. That surprised Tom the more he thought about it. She was normally very open to compromise and trade, but on that she had been unwilling to budge. He hadn’t thought about it until then. What with New York, and preparing those scripys, and the drama with Chris. His brow folded into a scowl at the bastard’s name.

 

“Abby …” Tom said as they sat.

 

“Mmm,” she hummed in response.

 

“What’s your family like?” he asked.

 

“Insane,” she mumbled around a mouthful of stir-fry.

 

“I’m being serious, love,” he said.

 

She swallowed and stared at him for a second, then said deadpan, “So am I. My family is fucking mental. My mom in particular. She’s like certified crazy. Like bi-polar alcoholic who has somehow managed to re-affirm themselves that their behavior is okay. My step-dad, he’s a narcissistic prick – also an alcoholic – who somehow gets away with taking off for months at a time to watch pornography and drink in his truck. I raised their kids because there was a time when they’d be drunk every other night, and hung over, sleeping, when they weren’t drunk. My family is nuts.”

 

“But you still have them in your life,” he said slowly, carefully, hoping not to dig a tender spot.

 

“Yes, my mom, well, she’s kinda trying to get better,” she said thoughtfully, “My step-dad’s never going to change.” She fell quiet for a moment, but wasn’t done quite yet, “I guess what it really came down to is realizing I never was and never will be a priority to them and accepting it. I did that. And for a long time I was really bitter and angry, but eventually I just realized it was easier to just forgive and let go. That’s not to say I won’t forget what happened, I will, and I won’t ever let it happen again. Just like I won’t let my mother ever have a mother daughter relationship with me again. I can’t. I’ll end up hurt.”

 

“Alright, that makes sense,” Tom said, “One more question, why were you able to move past your parents … but not … Chris …”

 

“I thought you’d ask that,” she said, her gaze piercing him, “I know Jeneanne and Mike never loved me. They never treated me like they loved me. Never promised me anything. Even though they should have. Chris, he chose to love me, or act like it, and make me all sorts of promises. Then he hurt me and broke every one of his promises. And … it’s different.”

 

Tom nodded, “I – I love you.”

 

“I love you,” her voice was quiet, but no less convicted.

 

“You’re very strong,” he said quietly.

 

“That’s possibly one of the best compliments I’ve ever received,” Abby said, “I don’t feel very strong. I feel like I’m a wreck half the time.”

 

Tom grinned, “You can still be strong, even if you’re a wreck. And Even if you ARE a wreck, you’re my wreck.”

 

And they smiled that secret smile that only two intimate people know. The smile that says ‘I know all your secrets’.

 

“My brother’s are going to love you,” she said with a shake of her head.

 

 _That's right_.  _He was going to meet them. All._

 

He must have looked as nauseous as he felt because she gave him that wicked knowing smile he hated and loved that made his blood boil, but not in a bad way.

 

“Hey Tom …” she said, her voice coy, sweet, “How about that fun?”


	28. Let's Tesselate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Pure smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, laaaddddiiieeeessss, here's some good smut for all ya'll. Consider it my gift for being so patient with my lack of updates. Enjoy dears. COMMENTS, KUDOS, BOOKMARKSare truly genuinely appreciated, as is every reader. XO Ghost

**XXVIII**

 

_(May 5 2017; 8p) LA, California_

 

Fingers twined together. Hot breath against warm skin. Lips meeting teeth and tongue. The soft tender moans. Fingers threaded through curls – his or hers. Skin brushing skin. Nose brushing nose. Tender butterfly neck kisses.

 

All that ran through Tom’s mind as Abby stood up, putting her plate on the coffee table. The t-shirt she was wearing hit the floor and immediately his eyes went to her breasts, pale and round, and so smooth. Dusty pink nipples ripening against the cool air of the air-conditioned apartment. Her sweats hung low on her hips. He wanted to take in every inch of her. His eyes darkened in lust, desire. He didn’t move yet though. He was transfixed by the wicked grin that swept across her delectable mouth.

 

Her fingers went to her nipples, gentle pinching and twisting. She maintained eye contact with him as a soft whine of desire slipped past her lips. Tom felt his erection throb, contained loosely by the sweats. He knew Abby saw as well, her eyes lingering a moment on the impressive bulge. Tom waited, watching, hoping she would put on more of a show. He needed that. He wanted to see her touch herself, consumed by thoughts of him.

 

Her small hand strayed from her breast, tracing a gentle straight line down her abdomen, and slipping beneath the waistband of her sweats. He knew what her hand was doing, even though he couldn’t see it. And the moan that left her mouth both stilled him and awakened him. His hard cock twitched at the erotic sound of her voice.

 

“Strip,” he whispered, “And touch yourself for me, darling. Let me see you moan for me.”

 

She pulled her pants down in one fluid motion, the warm fabric puddling at her feet. She used one long leg to kick the sweats off to the side. Her fingers teased the waistband of her lacy midnight blue panties that had matched her midnight blue bra. She had taken that off though as soon as she got back from the TED talk. Seeming to think of a better plan, she smiled demurely. Her hand shifted to the space between her legs, where she began to rub unapologetically. Her moan echoed through the room and set Tom’s blood on fire.

 

She had this way of knowing exactly what to do to torment him the most, but in a delightfully erotic way. She was fire to his bloodstream. Tom’s fingers tightened around his knee, his knuckles white, as he leaned forward. Eyes glued to the delicious spectacle before him. His breathing was heaving, his pupils dilated, his eyes dark. He resisted the urge the urge to yank her towards him and have his way with her. He wanted this little show she was putting on.

 

He had had attractive girlfriends before, but this was something entirely different. A whole new level of intimacy. Even when Taylor had shared his bed, it hadn’t been like this. They’d had unbelievable chemistry, but it had been a mutual using of each other. They were both looking for the wrong things. This was something different. He was looking for all the right things in all the right places.

 

“Take them off,” he breathed.

 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you,” she said coyly, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

 

“I said,” he growled out, his voice shades darker than it had been before, “Take. Them. Off.”

 

Her fingers hooked around the waistband of her panties and she pulled them off in one swift movement. She looked Tom in the eyes and said softly, “Demanding, aren’t you?”

 

“Where you are concerned,” he said darkly, as he surveyed her very naked body, “Oh yes.”

 

She smiled again, that deeply erotic smile that drove him crazy, made his bloodstream boil. Her hand strayed to the region between her legs once again. Her fingers parting the flesh there, slipping inside her and curling. The moan was long and low. Tom watched ravenously as her thumb brushed the little bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. His cock twitched again.

 

That was it. Tom pushed his sweats down, his large broad hands taking firm grip on his cock, his eyes fixated on the woman in front of him. His hand pumped his cock, slowly. He hissed through his teeth at the sudden contact. He could see the slickness between her thighs from his spot on the couch.

 

“Come here,” he said darkly.

 

She sauntered towards him and smoothly slid onto his lap, straddling him. Tom groaned as she slid along his cock, teasing him with her hot sticky juices. She bent and melded her mouth to his, her tongue dancing with his in fierce passion. She rocked along his cock without slipping him inside her. The friction had her pulling her mouth from his, her head tilting back into a moan.

 

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, his mouth pressed against her neck. His breath hot under her jawline. She shivered against him.

 

Tom flipped the two of them over, pressing kisses all down her abdomen, pausing to nibble and suck on her breast. Abby moaned under his ministrations. She knew there would be marks on her body left by him. Tom knew better though than to leave them places not easily hidden. When Tom came face to face with her again, he grinned in an almost feline manner.

 

“My darling, you are so delectable,” he purred, his warm accent sending chills down her spine.

 

“Please Tom,” she cried out. It turned Tom on more than he wanted to admit, to hear her begging, the fact that she needed him like this, wanted him like this, “Please, take me.”

 

Tom spread her legs further and slipped between them. He slid inside her quickly and in one motion he sheathed inside her. His first thrust had her clawing at his back, moaning, her leg tightening around him. He groaned at the tight feeling of her. He had a steady rhythm. He could feel the tension coiling in her body as she writhed beneath him, moaning and whimpering, the tension that begged for release. The damp sheen of sweat shone on her pale smooth skin.

 

“You’re so perfect, my love,” he breathed into her ear, “You feel so perfect.”

 

“Toooom,” she moaned his name, “Touch me.”

 

His hand found the bundle of nerves. His finger began tracing circles and figure eights around it. That was her undoing. She shuddered against him, tightening and spasming around his cock. He thrust once, twice more before he pulled out and spilled himself on the couch, his cock twitching. Abby lay beneath him, still and comfortably spent.

 

“We should do that more often,” Tom said with a chuckle.

 

“Mmm … you know, if I’m so delectable, maybe next time we should involve some dessert,” she said, opening one eye at him.

 

“Oh darling,” he said, “You’re just full of excellent bad ideas.”


End file.
